Lake Echo

by Rebecca Valley

If I give you the lake now I
give you the architecture
of my blood

The Weatherman's instruments spinning
at his station, in unison

water bubbling as it freezes without

I see you from a distance with
your vials, testing us

trying to find the chemical that

and meanwhile the bodies of extinct cats
skulking on islands we don't visit

and meanwhile the Weatherman licking his fingers
and putting them inside my mouth,
touching each
purple eyelid and reporting

fifty percent chance of snow

I am the little bruised girl who thinks of you now
when in the distance music of open
and my body resettled

I want to want this water I
want the
Weatherman, his warm arms around
trunk tongue in ear

but it comes back the
music it comes


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