Surfacing

I rose without trace till the surface
ripped itself over my head:
the cold air stung my lungs,
there were bruises, and weals
within weals on my skin.

On the level, I found you drowned:
the air had withered your lips,
thrown blisters of leaf on your body.
I lay beside you, coaxing
inches of breadth through your throat.

The water was sullen, anonymous,
lapping your eyelids like flesh;
at four in the morning, I floated
the length of the river,
knocking your heart for an answer.

From the book Love Poems