Lac de Nom Perdu

by Gregory Djanikian

The lake is calm, it is night,
the stars are cold and clear

and a man and a woman
are floating in a rowboat

in the middle of the lake
talking now in low whispers

so that no one may enter the space
of their talking or their being

where they are
on the cool dark water

their hushed cries skimming
toward the shore like so many translucent wings

and their transitory kisses
fluttering about finger or breast

and the beaded water
falling off their oarblades

like stars, like prisms
of happiness falling

from a long way off
and with hardly a sound.

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