we will call it: erosion
I am a creek tucked in
under the warmth-spotted shadows of a
canyon’s elbow
where boys go to grow up
I am a pool protected by willows
percolated from muave
dimpled by the rise of champagne bubbles
where girls go to bathe
eager for sanctuary,
reptilian brains scurry towards the gifts of wild water
despite the erosive nature of companionship
together, we molted
until the sun could bake us as lizards
far away from the skin we called home
“rough,” or “cracked”
our heals catching on bed sheets,
bookmarked and rusted with scabs
reminders of each time we pushed our fingers
deeper into stone cracks
deep into the economy of erosion
easily cutting through layers of sandstone
rushing sediment downstream
a flush, the color of rock
red. orange. purple. teal.
an exchange, the smooth shade of brown
until the wear of time hits a basement layer
experts on lizards and rocks and water
who have tunneled to the basement,
arrive unpoetic,
agreeing on the term, used to describe it
file it under the category: “hard”
chipping my own stone teeth
chewing on bed rock
just for some closeness
to another freckled lizard back
I am garnet. quartz. on flaking shale
legends of prehistoric tidal zones
whittled by wind,
exposed by rain
polished by floods
seep stained,
easily, swept into the current