within the body of the aux sables
the rock in the river shoulders the water
and casts off
in a languid lasso-let-go loop
a torso of water.
and while the river moves, new
water always creating the shape, the shape
is yet held. come down the river
quickens a gold leaf blown from a still complete maple.
who knew – ever – that this leaf
would adorn the body of water,
the girl within the woman
created by the casting-off of the rock,
the penumbra of the rock,
and that the leaf would pass over
her voluptuous blackness like an ember held in her hand
out toward the dark world
to illuminate its planes and fissures?
by Erin Wilson
Editor’s Note: When you can read a poem five times and still find something new, you know it’s a keeper. Surreality rules the narrative in this poem. [Aux Sables River]