Poem by Peter LaBerge 

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OPEN WATER 

Once someone gave me a body
it was difficult to change. The moon

orbited just one arm’s length away,
close enough to think it could slip

into my waiting palm. Surely, the sea
within a god’s quiet chest would open

for the two boys it locked inside
a kiss. It was plausible. I could

barely remember the last whirlpool,
the salt-chewed rocks. I have never

blamed myself for owning a body
that smells of the seashore

more often than not. But there are
only so many nights I can let

this beacon turn its still-dark water
into a body spilling over light. 

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