Because the Body is Made of Water

A thimble full of moonlight
Drains onto the forest floor—
Milk through a colander.

The branches ignore those splashes.
The oaks here, like hairy hands
Shuffle against each other.

They fight for who gets to keep
And brew the fluids of the night.
I do not believe he who hails,

Love is having her all to yourself
Or her who swears, I know him
Completely. The water body

Eats the image, beams back
From a funhouse mirror
A blurred pillar of light.

We forget to check
The magician's left sleeve.
I would like to know

Why we never catch all of anything,
Why we worship reflections.

Copyright © 2009 Ephraim Scott Sommers All rights reserved
from New Madrid
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission