Intruder
by Cass Garison
I drop a lure through the surface
of a lake, shatter the stillness. It breaks
the way a bullet unclasps the smooth
skin of a temple. The stem
of a flower cracking
in the wind. I see my death
everywhere—in every act of nature. Notice
the way a buck sharpens his antlers
against the bark of an evergreen, rubs
them until they are dull. Or,
how lightning can open the torso
of a tree in under a second. Ironic:
how Freud thought electricity
could fix something like this. I reel
the lure back up. It does not
unshatter the lake.
Cass Garison has work published or forthcoming in River Styx, Columbia: A Journal of Literature and Art Online, Washington Square Review, Salamander, Nimrod International, and others and is currently a poetry reader for The Adroit Journal.