Poetry • by Elise Arsenault 1

Poetry by Elise Arsenault Photograph by Etienne Girarde Pool Fly Feet in chlorinated droplets, forehead bright as grassblades backlit by sun, you stand still on my knuckle. I run my fingernail beneath a wing stuck to itself. I slide the other between pinched fingers and             you let me. Vibration. Soft and sharp. Movement without takeoff. I lift you to my eyes and (I swear) you face me, leaning forward as those back legs, quick and sure, glide up and down—level your wings in their veined translucence,             refract light. Thank you. For the invitation to a long look though all six legs worked fine.  [  >>>>>  FORWARD ]   + [Distillate © HA&L + Elise Arsenault {from the Greek bios} -- the course of a life.]