Passing a Lake and Noticing There Were Swimmers   The lake-swimmers push out again. Clothes wrapped in plastic on the bank. Is this what freedom is? The night-swim. The moon its own lake. The legs kicking past the waterweed and primrose. Our dream of privateness. I think of them and think of…

© Racheal Da Silva Burton         Packhorse   Bring on the bit and curb, the saddle, the saddlebag; broad animal, steady it goes for its own name being whispered in its ear; bring on the blankets, the slumped pack, lovingly; weight on weight, what matters is this whole life being dedicated, haunch and…