Lake Garda,

Mother,

gentle and ferocious

holding me

witnessing the tears

unravelling

and maybe I am

a mother

of sorts

already

and this is acknowledgement

as such.

I feel

the quickening

of a desire to

create

nurture

tend

love

the slowness

of being

begotten

by the Lake,

modelled by her

sitting in the pause

and words

are nothing

just being

awash with sanctity

like when the

water

licked my wrists

at the edge of Malcesine

like a puppy

endearing, tentative

and we met

and loved each other

and the lake

runs into the deep

shadowy, unknown

with the reach

of mountains

never to be truly

understood

outside of poetry.

Saturday 30^th July 2022