by Eric Trump

“Even if you aren’t affected by sunstrike yourself, other people may be struggling to see you.”

—Otago Daily Times, May 9, 2021

You say shadows gather there like panthers,

famished claws unsheathed in laddered light.

No, I counter, they are plunging swallows

stitching airy reticulations.

Whatever, you transit the evening sky,

disappearing under chlorine blues.

Prolific bubbler, down and down you go,

as if pursuing your reflection.

I hover over you, a lost echo

among the glassy cries of children.

What caprice of the deep turns you to me,

Suspended waving arms unweaving

time, drawn and gone to burning webs of gold:

What refraction could show me as you are?