Untitled Poem by John Courtney

If I were to tell you
in windy light
that my soul lived
in a fishing pond
before I could tell
you this
and as I told you
this you heard
a tree break away
from the grip of a stream
the same as the sound
I heard outside
the womb before
you knew
I was in there,
if I waited patiently
for your reaction
would I be living
again in a fishing
pond or would I
be waiting in your
body, would we be
driving through
the night alone?