For you it’s easy the slip the darkness me
my bones glow like gunshots on the wharf.
Before I even ask what are you swimming for
before I let slip a mess of wires out of my mouth
into the water. I get the sense someone is watching
for us I get the sense I should keep my mouth shut
when you kiss me this time swim off into the bay.
Put my ear to the planks and listen to water
pleating itself brackish in the pilings you weave
in by strokes kicking off the wires naked in the waves.
Want to follow you to that dry place below the bridge
where your chest is a paper lantern. Want to be gone
by the time the echo lets me know what you shouted
up to the train when it goes loud over the bridge.
If I get there if you make it back from if someone doesn’t
I would climb the tower dampen my luminous bones
in dressed-up flesh drop a handful of nickels down
in the river make a cloud of sound you could escape again.
Katie Naughton lives in Brooklyn. She writes about science for kids and others, and is looking forward to bike-to-the-Rockaways season. She can be reached at kathleen.e.naughton (at) gmail (dot) com