for Corinne
It is always near-freezing,
this high alpine lake where
we slide into oddly blue water,
and bare strangled sounds
tear from our throats
as if our own wildness
is shredding through
manicured versions of self.
I crave it, this scraping away
of everything that isn’t
limb-thrash and lung-gasp
and skin-scream and heart-bang
and wild uncontrollable breathing,
crave the tingling after,
the feral laughter, the way
the world slips more deeply into us
when we dare to slip
more deeply into the world.
Been thinking about Corinne, lately; and here’s your poem dedicated to her. And, oy!, such a poem.
The language you use is, go figure, “harsh and exciting.” bare, strangled, tear, shredding, crave, scraping, uncontrollable, tingling(?), feral.
And, of course, the turn. (Once again, “How can we know the dancer from the dance?”)
ah, that dancer, always here … and yes, that Corina is such a fun swimming partner!!! and love you pulling in Oliver’s words here … yes to the harsh and exciting