bobs on neon green mud water
a pink plastic halo
to sail in slow motion
over the murky unknown
to circle over the fearful dark
like the lightest
seashell hued bubbles
that might carry a good witch.
canoe conversations tingle along
cool water over wrists and ankles
'it's deep and good here'
and it finally feels like home,
the ancient water smell is in my bones,
and I fall asleep,
eyes heavy as moons.
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