Water Poem by Gordon R Menzies

The rain falls so heavily
around my green canoe
we are slowly swimming
through sudden grey veil
not drifting dreamily on
the dark black lake, as
if beneath and not above
my paddle dips and dips
I am an old lame fish
with a single honeyed fin
lost and circling shorelines
thinking of your long hair
plastered across shoulders
bare, water weed dripping
the drops meandering over
your skin, tracing your lines
long and lovingly, like
brush strokes, loath to leave
I am pointedly reminded
that much of our bodies
are crafted of water, and
the molecules of mine
are singing of separation
desirous of a lazy drift
within this endless lake
We are not floating, no,
We are swimming, yes,
and with one hard thrust
of my paddle, my fin,
we may just crest the sky