this is an interlude

this is an interlude.

this is a poem lowering

itself into the creek.

this is a brevity, brief

pages before the chapter

is claimed and the story

continues as planned.

on a hot day we lazed

on a rock we both lay

in sun,

like lizards with cigarettes.

we spoke of chapters

break the spine and move

the plot along.

definitive chapters, hard edged

periods of life—if that is so,

then this is an interlude.

we will spend three weeks

together, me and this interlude,

me and a stranger familiar already.

he is a poem diving

into the creek, pulling me

with gracious hands

we both wear blue

swimsuits, a european display

of leg, we are all skin glisten

under the sun on the rock

dripping dry listening

to some song i couldn’t name

but now it plays in this interlude,

now it plays in my soul deep

as the swimming hole and just

as green.

a grazing touch as we lay

longing as we dance with the current

the swells of rapid…

i cannot name this interlude.

i cannot name the exact tranquility

of the rock in the sun in our blue

swimsuits glacial river clinging

with gooseflesh, warming—

i cannot name this

the same way i couldn’t name him

with one word.

witty, refined, cerebral.

an interlude is a poem

and i daresay he is lyrical

he is pausing

the plot to spin

a brief affair in prose.

a brief intermission like

all the worldly motion frozen

for a game of chess. he made

the board.

in three weeks this man

this interlude

this poem will wander

to the next numerical

ending/beginning.

i must leave the liminal

pages too. my interlude

indented like rocks in

sunburning skin, my interlude

like a love letter in the mail, my interlude

like hand bound linen lined

in perfect cursive, my interlude

is deep cold water in hot sun,

my interlude a song

i may never hear again,

but in that moment

i believed

i’d never heard anything

so beautiful.