On the other side of the fence.
Look through the links, stick your toe inside,
And push. Me with my Converse,
You with your saddle shoes. We’ll land
On the other side, on concrete that still
Holds heat, sticky with Coke and orange popsicles.
The water, still as glass (and as silent), is
Tired of children.
If we slide in, ankles, knees, hips,
we won’t wake it. We’ll be its deep night dream,
It’s teeth-chattering, goose-bumped memory
That swirled and kissed,
Dripping wet when we climb out again,
Before midnight turns the gate into silver birds.