We Weren’t Desperate

we weren’t desperate
It was slow enough that
I could see each indentation of

your spine
dotting the backdrop of crickets

with duckweed freckles
Clutching my spot with hand tips,
its edge, a cracked lip, if only

there were eyes
to pick each undulation,

each ripple,
off the surface of our
deaf oasis.



—and I was static in
this darkness, flowing

out from the gap between
your legs into
it:

A cloud watcher,
viewing pond surface

in a staring contest with time