Paradise

In this summer,
in this garden of the last days,
in the place where I can only dream of the dead
and the ways they traveled to their graves
through particles of God and blood—
I am weary of the smell of the sweetness
at the bottom of the glass and the residue
of what love has become.

In the play I love the most
Adam and Eve become fire and water
and dance almost boiling near the flames.
When she decides to finally leave the garden,
divorce herself from something less than paradise,
before there is nothing left of her shimmering self
nearest her beloved,
she falls first as tears,
then as rain,
and collects herself happily
in the shallows of the purest lake.

In the end Adam
swims at these shores
with Eve on his skin every day
and never knowing she was there
to make this quiet peace
with a love that cannot be controlled.

On the last day
she is transformed
into the woman she must be
and is consumed by the sun.

The Swim

Dip the toes
to test the softness
of Silver Lake,
cool and smooth
like the inside of dreaming.

It is water the temperature of summer
and the touch surrounds me
with the two minds
of fear and longing.

How does a woman dive in
when she has always walked slowly—
each inch of submersion
carefully calculated
and felt fully
as the liquid of drowning
crawls up her skin?

Feet first—
totally shocking and numbing cold
encasing the calves and thighs,
the roundness of the middle,
arms dangling and flirting
until the point of no return
forces a plunge into the chest
and shoulders—
the gasp of release and movement,
the dance to stay afloat
to demonstrage the buoyancy
of flesh and blood
and breath.

The water tastes like wine
and sooths the skin
like iced whiskey
until I am drunk
and want to swim forever in this place
that is so much about the body
that the soul cries
for the gift of a thousand lives
just like this one. . .
here, .alone. . .quiet.

Stroke the water like an old lover.
Push the body toward shore,
caressing the effort,
just to emerge,
to die in the warmth of the sun
and be born to the suffering of water
again and again.

Tomorrow, at the dawn of the new day,
the air will be too cool for July.
I will pull the sheets away from my sleeping self
and climb down the hill toward the ancient lake
to plunge naked and clean again into the light.

If the sky opens and takes me then
it will be enough
to just go.