Featured Poem: If You Are Water

By Michael McGriff

Tonight, the whiskey fires burning
on the moon move through me
like a hammer swung in the dark,
and if you are water the moon
is painting itself across you.

If you are water I am running my hands
through you. If you are water
my left hand is a horse thief
my right hand is alder smoke
drifting the ridge.
I am the old dike road
and you are pushing your wet shoulders
into the black silt of me.
I am a piece of glass
falling through itself.
But you are not water, and I am
on my knees bent over the edge
of the dock, moving my hands
through the vague glimmer
of distant cities, the bioluminescence
coiled around each finger.
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