To Be Beautiful

Summer Scribbles 2009, #1

When dusk settles around the lake's edge
I carry myself through the summer wind.
I walk shoeless down the weathered docks
and put my bare feet in the black water
that is warmer than the air around us.
And when you meet my eyes
you like to say my real name;
you speak it aloud to the dragon clouds
and the bruised sky repeats in imploringly.
The speckled stars also gaze
with your question in their brightness,
the one you have yet to ask,
the one that will make the nighttime real.