In the fishscale shade of riverside
birches we built fire
built it with our hands, the way
one builds a home, fingertips
cool on damp moss
Imagine the warmth of it, opposite
the water, so clear one could dream
of reaching into the light.
How clear is skin unafraid of fire?
Thin lines of blue veins, bodies
unto themselves, box jellyfish:
an entire cove of them. The truth
of our bodies' machinery—
perhaps, it is this display that kills us
the way the tendrils in water long
for other bodies, do not linger, this transparency
is poison. Instead imagine further into the fire
in its yellow heart and reach for it,
a little ball of warmth, like a summer orange,
like something you might swallow with a child’s grin,
a little treasure for those who still reach into fires
Joshua McGarry hails from Germany and is currently working on his MFA at Old Dominion University. He lives in Norfolk where he writes and collects records with what some have described as "excessive enthusiasm." He has a poem out with Ekphrastic Review and three more of his poems will be in the forthcoming issue of DoveTales.