Todd Davis
BLACK WATER
after Andrew Wyeth’s “Black Water” (1972)
The farther north we travel the water
goes from blue to black. No cattle
to speak of, so even brown fades
with the memory of Pennsylvania.
In Maine summers run so short, skin
stays luminous as the moon,
and against the sand the sleeping
look as if they’ve drowned.
—from Rattle #27, Summer 2007
