I read a story about a man who drowned in an Oklahoma lake. He was in shallow water, it got deep quickly, and he couldn't swim. This reminded me of someone...
A handsome boy from Oklahoma
They met in words,
and for two months spoke only
in Hemingway
quotes.
He was kind.
He
knew the gospel, though
he didn't believe it.
In Scotland,
they cooked breakfast before the sun
came up
and walked along the isle
where generations
of ghosts followed them
and sang chants in
broken notes.
She
left him there,
four hours above Glasgow,
hundreds from home,
with no goodbye or hello
because although
she
fell for him, it wasn't love.
They were young, and
idealistic enough to know
they could create it,
but too restless to make it so.
He sent her fruit baskets
for two Christmases
with postcards
written in pencil
that smelled like caramel,
but
then was gone,
and she,
like weathered stones,
in a shallow lake,
remains
permanently shaped
by him.
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