I can almost locate the place
in my body where the Arizona sun
is hidden, those mornings
we waded through inky water,
shaved our legs off the back of the
boat, were content to float from one
hidden canyon to another, to let
watermelon juice drip from our chins
and pool around our ankles.

And at night, we dove naked,
rippling the moon-stained lake,
floated on our backs and covered
our eyes with the earth's weight.
We stretched until our bones
creaked, until the tendons in our
necks strained, as we reached for
the Milky Way just above us.  
The wind's scent, like raspberries,
settled in our gums, and sometimes
as if stirring from sleep, I taste it.