Glass Poetry Press

Volume Three Issue Two

Cyndle Plaisted Rials

Out of Water Fashioned

I feel through snarled tendrils and coiled ropes, reaching for you, tenuous unseen, never quite able to touch you. Pondweed halos your head as you float like a waterlily in the shallows, waiting to thrust out rooty fingers. My stomach is still flat, but your waterling limbs drift around the knotted bones and purpled tubes, waiting for the tide to draw you up into a conspicuous swelling.