Estrangement The drink that we invented I make and drink alone. (A heart become a stone has never yet relented.) Where there were words and laughter, silence falls like snow. The drink that made us glow now brings depression after. But though there’s no salvation in grief or memory, to what we used to be I pour out a libation.
Swimming Hole The summer I swam in the pool of your mind there were too many stars for my vision to find, and love was not hopeless as often it seemed, for your mind fell asleep and I swam as you dreamed. Since then I’ve crossed rivers and sailed over lakes, had many adventures, made several mistakes, but never was fortune so fondly inclined as the summer I swam in the pool of your mind.
Gail White is a widely published Formalist poet and a contributing editor to Light. Her recent collections include Asperity Street and Catechism (both on Amazon). She lives in Breaux Bridge, Louisiana, with her husband and cats.