Do you remember how the City of Lakes was hissing steam when the stars climbed above the headlights just west of Hennepin Avenue?
And all that burned was reflected off the dark water, which lay mute like a black mirror.
I was at my fullest and I called your name
as I walked into the lake
Toes in the sandy mud
Butt-naked and fearing nothing
Buoyed by longing and carried forward by wonder.
And you undressed,
and you followed.
Winged things flew in and out of the trees and rose like gloomy shadows just above our heads.
And whatever was doubtful was deleted,
washed away by the green water as we held fast to one another.
But now there is no steam and the fruit bats and the barred owls are far away.
There is little that seems full
and there is even less of wonder.
Yes, something vast and unnamed remains
but instead of carrying us
its weight feels dead.
Leaden, with the heft of unanswerable questions
and dark, dry silence.