Image by Mike Bitzenhofer.

The Gore of the Forest (Part 2) — SONNET #5

The raft you made out of towels didn’t float, for fuck’s sake
it didn’t even keep us dry,
I stopped showering, my cowlick

grew covered in duck-oil, I watched the water slick
right off of it & back into the lake
whose every droplet is a universe balled up in its own egotistic

concerns, cabins that were never lake-front stick
their pilings way, way into the deep, a barge
gets beached on a terminal moraine

& we know, the moment an electric charge
fills the air, that this is the last time we’ll ever see rain:
better enjoy it. Everyone I know & love looked up at the sky

to let the deluge wash their hair.
It was a beautiful dream, because you were there.