Bodies in Water BruceRobinson

I’m not sure how it all began, except that we came from water, stray eddies of strife. And like the life we think we know, we found our way out, always fumbling, a torrent of paddling, a palimpsest of strokes. What was it that led us to each other despite the ambit that sways us first to one apparent shore, then onto the next, unclear as to why we might shelter, uncertain where we might harbor? I was a swimmer so caught in the currency of laps and the comfort of the warming flow; you nothing like a standing pool: you moved on.

Recent work by Bruce Robinson appears or is forthcoming in Tar River Poetry, Spoon River, Rattle, Mantis, Two Hawks Quarterly, Berkeley Poetry Review, North Dakota Quarterly, Last Stanza, and Aji. He has raced whippets in the midwest, and is part of that stubborn undercurrent in Brooklyn that continues to root for the Brooklyn Dodgers.