The Pull

Which way South, underneath 

The four cornered table, all the breadth 

The look, the shove

From over and around, not up above 

The lovers hands meet, and take beneath

The only angle, the lovers leap

We try and just might

Let all things go

But no one does, all things turn and row

From their oars they pull

To cut through the water

And all forward go, they see to them

Full

For the lawn trimmings waste, a full fields grown

We always never hold out, to new 

And found

We step towards the water, and feel the warmth below

The calm waters edge, swiftly pulling on the sand, from wake and toe