Divers.
It’s been a backwards countdown since the first day of fall.
Numbers drop past windows. Divers, with daylight and cold caught in the equation.
I loved your summer calves. Small balls of muscle wrapped under tight bronze skin. They pushed you up Panther Mountain and I remained focus on the left-right throb until the rolling green world unlocked at the top.
Is there an easier way to think? A trick, a flip of the switch so that we finally see the corresponding glow of our cheap skeleton costumes. A magnetically resonating image of nearly exact bodies simultaneously doing nearly the exact same thing. Hiking up to ledges and freezing time.
I don’t know what’s possible. Along with worshipping your golden calves, I’m a diver and I look for trouble in glowworm caves, bus stops, dive bars and brambles. I like the feeling of the fall. I like knowing we might lose it all, pushing against reason until reason becomes unreasonable, til the crease between your eyes becomes a canyon and we can’t control our majestic, snorting laughter.
Two divers in the corner of a dirty pub always trying to climb a mountain.