“when I was in Paris”
walking through a prism of rain…
rain, not itself unless ceaseless 
ceaseless desire, dandelion field 
we walked around the pond in winter
I appreciated what you said
it did no good 
I imagine the palest blue,
a shock of coral rises,
fast as a planet, a world away 
swimming in the lake of the poem
a containable longing, though
later, longing again

prism

ruth lepson