Knox It Occurs to Me
In this moment it occurs to me
that she might be saying
she wishes she knew
me better, or maybe
the force of my wishing
it so is creating its own gravity
forceful enough to bend things,
the way light yields to the force
of a black hole.
Because, see, she’s beautiful
in this glow, the dappled sunlight reflecting
on her face from the water’s surface,
her lake-drenched hair plastered
to her cheeks like leaves
to a window during a storm;
beautiful enough to crack me;
beautiful enough to open me
like a book. What do you want
to know? Ask me anything, I tell her.
What’s your favorite food? she asks.
I want to tell her that the answer
to that question will take me
years and that she’ll just have
to stick around.
Instead, I smile at her. Avocados.
And I sink beneath
the water, one arm held skyward
in the hot June air like I’m begging
heaven for spare change.