There isn’t much beneath my surface.
I’m Chagrin River creek deep
Baked almost dry
By sultry suns of July.
I’m not who you think
Fooling you hasn’t been fun
All I can do
Is make you wet,
Stomping and kick-splashing,
Stirring up clouds of silt
So you can’t fathom the true depth.
You can’t tear down what never gets built.
When the sediment settles
The water clears liked a dusted mirror
That only shows a dissolving face,
First the reflection and then your own,
Just before the glass cracks
And hints at slivers of life
Shining through from the other side.
The sandy bed of the creek trembles,
Shifts and gives way to gravity,
To absence, to you falling,
The only thing you can do
When the ground gives way.
You are the one who can't stop falling
And you're falling all alone,
And you're falling all alone
But I’ve already left the river
And my feet are firm and dry.
That’s me, over there,
Silhouetted on the opposite shore,
Skipping stones across skins of water.