“I've never been in a kayak,” I said

before I (drunk) got in one and pushed off

behind my brother-in-law, Matt, paddled 

in the dark to the riderless jet ski

drifting out in the middle of the lake,

prepared to find someone floating near it, 

facedown, or blood on the seat or, at least,

keys still hanging from the ignition but,

years later, I recalled that, years before, 

I already had been in a kayak

on my bicycle trip, in Idaho...

Anyhow, there was no body or blood;

most likely the jet ski wasn't tied up 

and had just drifted away from its dock.

Around the boulder I spied the day’s bare

conclusion, pink; stepped right in a tide pool

and threw my hands to the slippy granite

hoping to find yours among the many.

Screw falling down; unite raincoat plastered 

with red leaves. It's a new way to be fine:

Trees will lean down later to pat our hair.

Peaches yolk yellow flushed with giddy wine

looked good enough to eat, were all bone-hard. 

We picked just to have picked, earn an opal

of work sweat and kick back in the Airstream.

“I made you a refreshing drink,” Penny 

hands me a glass and says. “Guess what's in it... 

orange juice, milk, and vanilla ice cream.”