143) The Ritual

We left early in the morning and walked across a field
and at last came to a stream
and sat down on the bank and looked over it.
In one gray pool we saw our forms,
blown there like dark glass. Over us,
the planes were taking their passengers into the city
and etched in the sky were their shaken lines of exhaust--
while we floated together on the water, rested--
her shoulders on the liquid, our hands too,
before the other shore as if betrothed.

---Christine Garren