Strumming, 'A Tight String Poem by James McLain

How can they pluck the off strings
strumming bare back swimming
variations of yellow like Van Gogh daisy
green as the moss of Monet lily ponds
most of those make me lazy
she who should be the yellow is crazy
and brown cut down to the water line
the moon will be fuller and oil tonight
floating by them when dolphins come
around me the water foamed up
the dolphins freed began to feed
so near to me some their touch
each nonscheduled fin
slicing the water the knife
as one fat mullet running for it's life
shot up
and out into the air, coming to rest
between some tired woman chest
her legs thin beating the air in her orange chair
chuckles and laughter except from the girl
a piece off down the shore
to far away to see perhaps
each dolphins smile as they pulled off
and down away following the smell of the fish
they were chasing
watching as I float out nearly, I stop
Strumming, 'a tight string I see, Sara
and within hands breadth, I reach for the sea.