EVENING WALK

I remember once when we were young
we went up to the lake. We rode the waves.
At first we held on tight to the handles,
later we loosened our grip
because it was fun to splash
across the surface of the water.
It was nearly sunset when
we finished, nearly eight o’clock.

It was the height of summer.

As we made our way
back to the house, there was only
the sound of dusk, the earth listening in closely,
and the hum of the car on the road.

Remnants of the sunset were on the horizon.

That night the heat
didn’t subside much, and the
next morning was peacefully silent.

It was an invincible time.

I stand in the shadow of a large truck,
the streetlight doesn’t reach here.
We still had responsibilities and obligations
then, but we didn’t know what they were.
The miles between us were from
one end of town to the next.

Those days are gone forever, I should just let them go.

We were reaching for something then,
jewels at the bottom of a soft-flowing
river, things that were mysterious.
And today we are reaching
for something, and don’t know what it is.

(10 June 2006)