Luster

in the morning the waves were flat, hard, fragile as glass

the sun cast its bands of red iron across the sky and we were out

in a boat dimpling the crystal sheet

the coarse sand ruddying the soles of our feet

pine tweezers on the grass, brittle, birthed of rosin

orange jaspers glinting like plastic

inside, aluminum foil we crumpled around plates

the smell of old upholstery and new sheets

curls of carpet the sand fled into

the jaspers, drying, graying, no more than pebbles

the sound of blind voices

from inside we looked across the lake

only at night did the distant lights shine back at us

twinkling, a reminder of their distance, obscured by the churning night waves

a sound of time passing, a sound of static

the darkness garnished with stars, a smooth uncertainty

a cloak of emptiness

we padded around, afraid to creak the floor

in the morning, a bird flown against the window, bleeding

the rocks dry, the car loaded, all packed into plastic, into bags, into metal

into the garage

we emerged secure, clacking together in the backseat

too bright to see the meteors

now the rocks wait as they have for millions of years

they rest in our closet

they remember

no specific events, just a firm, uniform milieu

the viscous texture of the loving night

we arrange the rocks, cluster them into families

forming parents and children, trees on our desks

the rocks are rough, dried,

bereft of love

fragile, shedding crumbs

in the night our lights are immediate now

shining cars as red meteors

streetlights that pierce the darkness

a night dissected by colored light

and on the vacant mountain, a white twinkle

the darkness is in our closet, the rocks

forgotten in their bags, packed up

lumped into a single clan,

sleeping

waiting for the memory of the morning

waiting for the rhythm of the water

for the firmness of the ground