I remember how the water crested.
And also the pupils that remained fixated
beneath the deluge of a dimming August sun
on iridescent Scotian lakes.
I remember how your hair floated;
swelling with the sonorous tremors of
the ephemeral cosmos tugging.
Love tints everything,
and hate eventually undercuts it.
When I escape the fatalist clutches of each,
and the memories merge with tangibility
it’ll dawn that maybe I was in love with a girl
that couldn’t love herself.