Whirlpool

By: Stella Martin

We drift deeper, and deeper
into the green, universe 
beneath our feet, roots tangled, 
roots unravelling, absorbing 
secrets from the soil, returning 
stories of the sun and the still 
clear air. Every inhale 
is a river. I take you 
through familiar trails. Maybe 
we’re lost. Blue dragonflies skim 
their needles on the lake’s surface, 
sewing mountains while they dance 
for us. You watch my body 
like a door, my tilt 
against sprouting terrain, back 
of my head like a field. 
We trek on, a palace 
with chandeliers, velvet 
wisteria drapes, vanished 
by next time. Honest 
copperhead coiling your stomach, 
persimmons pressed to your mouth.