My Love and the Catfish

Mirror, Crescent and Round Lakes,
though little more than decorated retention ponds,
made three, and Tampa Bay drew
the fourth line: boxed in.
Lake dwellers now, we walked
block after block
seeing everything house-shaped.
I wondered, will I ever be happy here?
But we hadn’t yet forgotten how to see
jacarandas in April and some days
fried catfish saved our lives.
I read These Lacustrine Cities every night
and sometimes the thought of you
weighing each dollar
wrung the last tear from our double rainbow.
Reading was discipline
and the poet taught me how
that I might engage my own
precise experimentation.
I saw then fresh as today
the logic of my situation
in your green eyes,
love locked.

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