Editors’ Choice: Mark J. Mitchell

The Transparency of Water

Where the river crosses you
And water flows along your spine
There is one touch—not liquid,
Not solid—a contact of nerves.
This is no mystery. Nothing
Is hidden. Still, you’re not meant
To understand it, just to feel it.
This electricity lights nothing,
The blues glow on their own.
Perhaps, you think, face down,
Breathing pebbles, it’s only time.
But you know that’s wrong.
Your toes curl and your back
Wiggles. Fish are drawn to you.


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