The pond.

Do you remember those days we went fishing in
     the pond,
Wore cut-off jeans, no underwear,
Drank cola in the sun, and did not think
     that we must share
With anyone a having to ourselves the Great Beyond?

This is a focus filled with jeweled light--
We stripped, tanned beneath its magnifying glass,
Felt the prism in the blood, the rainbows pass,
Their colors, like a dance of seven veils, unite.

For naked boys, the shimmering gauze--
I take some comfort that it comes to me
     so late
The most alive of us can lie in state
And break the rigid pattern of eternal laws.

I smile to see the old man in the mirror
As though he saw the pond in morning glow,
And knows in unforgotten places time is very slow,
Waits in grave attendance at the edges of an error.

An error with the most imposing truth in it--
A jeweled ring that dazzles on my finger
The rich, belabored dance of those who linger
Yields as little to attendance as those edges
     still permit.