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More poems by Charles SimicCharles Simic | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by Charles SimicBooks by Charles Simic

The Bather

Charles Simic

Where the path to the lake twists out of sight,
A puff of dust, the kind bare feet make running,
Is what I saw in the dying light,
Night swooping down everywhere else.

A low branch heavy with leaves
Swaying momentarily where the shade
Lay thickest, some late bather
Disrobing right there for a quick dip--

(Or my solitude playing a trick on me?)
Pinned hair coming undone, soon to float
As she turns on her back, letting
The dozy current take her as it wishes

Beyond the last drooping branch
To where the sky opens
Black as the water under her white arms,
In the deepening night, deepening hush,

The treetops like charred paper edges,
Even the insects oddly reclusive
While I strained to hear a splash,
Or glimpse her running back to her clothes . . .

And when I did not; I just sat there.
The rare rush of wind in the leaves
Still fooling me now and then,
Until the chill made me go in.

Added: 24 Aug 2001 | Last Read: 21 Aug 2017 5:42 PM | Viewed: 6594 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/415/ | Viewed on 21 August 2017.
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