sometimes we meet like old lovers

   

sometimes at a hidden beach
at lake calhoun

where a man in a brown speedo
piles up rocks

at the edge of the lake

and splashes water on them
so they glisten

in the late afternoon sun

we sit on our towels
drying off

wiping the sand from our feet

the piles of rocks get bigger
and all we agree on

is that it is getting darker
sooner every day.