This is the old way to lake, before the birds
moved in. Like you, I am a diver. In the wolf hour
I stand still as kindling. The sun eats
the trees and the air eats me.
You wanted something scientific
to happen, wanted to keep moving downhill,
like a stream. But sorrow moves in six
directions, not a channel could hold it.
Life’s not anchored like that. I would know. I
bathe in it every morning.
Alisha Bruton lives in Portland, OR, where she is in medical school. She has been published in the Diagram, Burnside Review, Portland Review, Ampersand, Swine, and elsewhere. She is belligerently happy with her life.