Tuesday poem #293 : Catherine Cafferty : Coupling constellations

The green leafy gaze, a loon on

the lake.

By night mice in a dish, when the torch

is on. And squirrels want fireside.

I cut into the tip of my finger the first

day, need layers when I enter the

water.

A death among reeds, we watch

at nothing for nearly an hour.

The dragonflies multiple by midday,

prism-like water below us.

I dream of the canoe rocking, arms

a tilted windmill, yet word is I’m working

little.

The moon casts over the islands tonight,

black pitch made sun white by tomorrow.

This cedar and soil portage, now useless

with a map of water.

Goggled liked a child, survey the moss-

covered stones, a fish.  I swim.

Catherine Cafferty is a poet living in Brooklyn, NY. She holds a BA in literature from McGill University, an MA in English from San Francisco State University, and an MFA from The Iowa Writers' Workshop. She currently is the co-director of literacy for The Partnership for Inner-City Education in NYC.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan