In the beginning was lake
salt on our skin, wind deep
breathing with us in grass.

That was years ago, when
the woods were as open
to being endless as we were.

I want to be lost again
in a labyrinth of pines–
fighting our way through

cicadas singing lovesongs–
to find the water, and
emerge needing your air.

(originally published in talking about strawberries all the time, Fall 2020)