Page 171 of Wayfarers

We let the balance of the afternoon

pass as air through our fingers

into the early evening at the park,

basking in the afterglow of the eclipse.

We don’t talk much but this time

because we’re practicing the fun new way

we’ve discovered to while away

the hours while our fellow

skywatchers gradually dissolve

back into their lives.

Then, watching the rusty light

of the sun receding

for the second time

and pulling the true dusk

around us like a cloak.

I wish this summer was

infinite and only this day

over and over and over.

We leave like a sigh.

Knox A Little Later

“So ‘Skinny Love’ is not a song about falling in love while skinny-dipping?” I ask.

“Not as far as I know. Then again, it’s a very abstract song so who knows. Wanna hear something funny?”

“Yes.”

“Never skinny-dipped.”

“Hang on,” I say. “Not once?”

“I don’t think it’s that common anymore,” Sylvie says.

“Anymore?! What do you mean? Like smartphones have replaced skinny-dipping?”

“Not that, but doesn’t it seem like sort of an old-timey activity? Swinging on tire swings. Getting stuck in quicksand. Going skinny-dipping.”

“To me, no. But that’s because the group I grew up with—look, I’m just going to call them my family because that’s what I called them growing up even though most weren’t my family and I wouldn’t want them to be.”

“Call them whatever.”