The rain does not cool and is a sticky one to the present and the place. Is it a weakness, yours for narcotics? The trees levitate and become mountains. You stand in the water inside a melancholy boulder. Now you're a flying sandwich.
From Small Boat by Lesle Lewis, published by the University of Iowa Press. Copyright © 2002 by Lesle Lewis. Reprinted by permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.