I heard the report, and admit
A damp fall in the leaves
Behind the house, admit pawing
Over the earth for my near-
Concluded cigarette. Nothing
That afternoon could compel
My voice. I drank milkwater
From the tap and ran it over
My forehead and my eyes,
Threw my clothes in the pile,
Sat half-naked in the light
Of rolling news, and smoked.

They dredged her body up
Like a wrecked schooner: white
Crabs goring whitish bloat.
A lamp was on somewhere
In someone else's home.
Watching, I had a feeling that
The water would advance
And cover all in radiance.

Owen Lucas is a British writer living in Norwalk, Connecticut. His poetry, fiction and translations have been published in more than thirty journals in the US, Britain and Canada. His recent work can be found in Tirage MonthlyTribe and Free State Review. For more: owenlucaspoems.com.