your boat is a ladle

Your first love
will skip you like a rune
across the water
of something unnamed,
deep, sonorous.
The air will swoon
in a swell where
all words sink.
Your fool eyes
will spy a loon,
paddling between you,
whistling a diver’s call,
unspooling a ripple.
You swim into it anyway,
grappling seaweed,
small fish,
the balloon of clothing underwater.
You swallow their blue moons whole.
Casting adrift,
you will pull yourself
into a skiff,
shallow as a spoon.