Behind The City Gate
At White Horse Point,
from the water by kayak
I see two kids kissing
behind the City Gate,
a rock as high as a fortress wall
his jams sluicing the glassy flow,
her suit straps dropped and slack against her arms.
They are out of time;
out of the view from her parents'
window on the road above---
One body nut brown, one pink with sun,
both halved by water.
They don't care about the oceanic wilderness
beyond us; that blue, glittering vastness
so much smaller
than the span of his hands
on her hips. Her brown bangs
flutter when she leans
against the slick rock looking up, looking
only at the fringe of his pale lashes,
her brown fingers meet
across his narrow back.
Silver-sides flash; a burst
of white sparks in water. My boat rides
the single ripple that slides
between them then away
when she pulls him closer,
into rock-green shade.
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