Lakeside

another swimming hole

By Harper Lewis Published 2 months ago • 1 min read

I lie down in the lake,

floating on water warm as

my blood, head leaning back,

ears submerged, only hearing

the music of the water lapping

the banks and my own heartbeat,

my blood, and my thoughts.

The quiet lake louder than

I am within it. The language

of air on water meeting land

has its own rhythm, no cadence

of traffic, just a gentle reminder:

Even when quiet, the immovable

object doesn’t stand a chance

against the irresistible force.

Intrusive rhyme bothers me, except as a weapon.

Intertextuality is my passion.

Formalist/ New Critical are my guiding theories.

My words are mine, not a robot’s.

MA English literature, CofC

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