A Night On The Lake of Introspection

We walk to the edge of an unknown and underestimated jewel box
of premature memories.
Stepping off the end, you pull back as the first drops of cold
Cling to your Violet’s Breath toenail polish.
Afraid to give up the comfort of our modesty,
we wait until submerged and then remove our ignorance
pay no attention to the lake bottom.
Times are best when we choose not to worry
about the approaching storm and the
sirens in the distance
just the moonlight and the moonshadows and those
insignificant particles that are too weak to break the
Surface Tension.
We dig our toes deeper into the sand and broken shells
as we try to somehow hold on to the
fingers of the wing that cool the droplets on our
naval and our temples.
Seeking refuge on a sandbar we lie flat.
The only things that rise from the grimy water
are our eyes, our lips
Mirror Images of an image that I’ve seen
for years break as the sand trickles from my
wrinkled fingers.
The water alters our reflection.


z
(3/3/03)