A Scene from Cranberry Lake
A kiss, alive like a moose
chewing wild rhubarb,
its crab leg red stems
sharp in the brush,
its antlers spread wide,
thinking, requesting nothing,
a gaze, a loyalty to the present,
held raw and unprepared.
There, in his sightline, we told
each other all sorts of lies,
and pretended that it mattered.
So we both stepped back, as
if from a painting not fully dry.
Grazing where it pleases, pulling
sustenance from unexpected places,
the beast in all of us, open to
interpretation.
Read More Poems From the New York Almanack.
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