Dock of the Lake

The dock was warm
and below
the murky iris color
of his eyes, the water
was cut in darker and clearer portions
by the evenly proportioned wood
nailed together
on which we lay
I wondered what lay beyond
and his thoughts
that I wish I could read
what lay beyond
in the strawberry ice cream
of his brain
I did care
whatever he may say about the sky being my lover
I may be entranced by what lay beyond
the blue
but more, really, by just what he saw
with his mind
the neurons firing on and off
to make him breathe
I wanted to know
what he thought


But, at the same time
I was so far apart
so seperated by unusual ramparts
that I built
only by my own confusion
in a salt-lick castle
built on sand
so impersonal
as if I was the sun
I worshipped
I tried to give him insights
if maybe, too, he was wondering
as to where the citrus center
of my pink grapefruit brain
was wandering around
or maybe it was just sitting
blank faced
as many vegetables do
on a park bench somewhere

The wood of the dock was cutting into my back so I pulled myself up, the water that was soaking into it from my hair leaving a shodow of where I was originally. His eyes were shut as I walked to my bag where the rest of the dock was set in, immovable, with posts, but I knew as I traveled farther away he could see me, squinting down past the rest of horizontal body and against the incessant glare of the sun. Grabbing two towels seated on the top of the bag I stuffed one under arm, flipping out the other one and wrapping it lopsided over my hair, taking the step down to the tethered, unmounted dock we were both laying on, my weight depressing it only slightly. I walked back over, the lake breeze cooling my body and I wrapped the towel around my shoulders and stretching out to tap him on the shoulder and lift his head up so that I could lay the towel under his head. Instead he sat up, ungracefully, propping himself first on one elbow, then on the other, then pushing off with the arm farthest from me, so that he had rolled his body toward me, his eyes still not open completely. I knew at the moment that all he could see was white dots as the sun had left its imprints on his eyes. He took the towel from me and sat completely up, drawing his legs in and involuntarily shivering, the heat sometimes chilling you and warming you simultaneously. I sat back, pulling the towel completely across my back and around to the front of my knees with thumb and forefinger holding the edges, looking past him to the rest of the lake and looking back as he settled, sitting indian style closer to me. I rested my chin atop my knees and he smiled, hazily, honestly, and scooted closer so that his shins were at my toes. We both sat there serenly, a million things to say, but no better way to say them. Wrapping the towel around his own shoulders he patted down his hair, then set his hand on my foot. I smiled at him then.