Even Now, the Poplar

This lake at dawn like new glass
and the boys thrown beneath

singing still their hymns in
the gray water to a breach

of ankles. Let us sing some
small worth from the shackle,

show the skin of a neck as
the callow shape it's broke

from (not yours, not you,
for once), and we can watch

the birds in morning, see
them needle the caps

and tear their seams to the sky
for no reason or warning,

no hunger but the blur of reflex:
how easy jaws take to water.

Alex Guarco is the associate editor of The Adirondack Review. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Juked, DIALOGIST, and SOFTBLOW.

Boxcar Poetry Review - ISSN 1931-1761