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, lazing,

we spoke

of definitive chapters,

laying bare the hard edged

periods of life—break

the spine and move

the plot along.

stretched on the back

of a boulder amidst

water, i learn

he is a poem diving

into the creek.

pull me

with grace as

we both wear blue

swimsuits, a 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; cold

fingertips on sun-warmed

bodies, longing as we

swell with the current…

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 cannot name a poem

with one word.

witty, refined, cerebral.

an interlude is a poem

and i daresay he is lyrical

pausing the plot to spin

a brief affair in prose.

a brief intermission like

all the worldly motion frozen

for a game of chess.

count weeks on fingers and

this poem will wander

to the next numerical

ending/beginning.

i must leave the liminal

pages. my interlude

indented like rocks in

sunburning skin, my interlude

like a love letter in the mail,

like hand bound

perfect cursive,

my interlude is deep cold

water in hot sun, a song

i may never hear again,

but in that moment

i believed

i’d never heard anything

so beautiful.