Lake Michigan

Aye — ‘twas a sea-hag

made me young,

who put these

eels in my thoughts,

stitched her tooth down

my groin and gave

seagulls supremacy to hold

hatch and flap their

pokeys over me.

Shore foreshortened —

and so it takes the lengths

of three me’s for waves

the height of one to scale

down ‘til they’re barely

big enough to stub

a sandalled toe.

If I cared to, I could

go breaststroke out past

the runoff to swallow

my fill of freshwater

or just stay eastward stroking

to Michigan — entirely

safe in knowing

the lake in question

at bottom is but

something like

41 me’s deep.