When it flooded I felt it. The earth gutted
beneath the peonies, a drowned cornfield

feeling for a touch of sun. I walk to where
the lake broke rock and wonder whether

the halves were ever used to being together, one
before the water rose. For them, it won’t last

long; already, moss stitches the scar.
I’ll let my lover think I’m easy, feathered all

in leaves. But make no mistake. Each time he loves me
my body climbs up dripping from the lake.