Valentine's Day


       Hard then, I pull an old canoe
       across the freshly painted truck
       and leave a good long scrape
       against the roof.
       A pleasured mark,
       like bruises 
       caused by lovers
       new to one another's touch.

       Today, the river 
       wears an icy negligee,
       parted down a dark 
       and silent middle.
       Birds hustle 
       tree to tree,
       and the song of my paddle
       swirls underneath.

       Afterwards I like 
       to drive through town,
       the canoe mounted, bound,
       water still clinging to its bow.



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