← v12n1, Spring 2013
Poetry · Volume 12, Number 1

Aquatic Herd

A tangle of white horns

             bristles above the line of water—

You swim to graze, your pasture

those foliaged margins steeped in

             accrual, like a word you can hear,

the hiss and rustle of bodies

plying wheels of water, the grind

             of your teeth on familiar flourish.

Morning frays from the lake

this hour you don’t

             know barrenness, dry

stretch of sand without a trickle

or bloom. You are at home near algae,

             near succulent moss, hooves scribbling

bottom layers.

Though you are helpless

             to those who could see you graze

you might look dangerous—

Bodies hidden. Just heads

             crowned with ghostly architecture—

a stripped and estranging forest

all branches. Or hollow spines.