We sat together on that nameless pier,
the boards scaffolding us
over, or perhaps into,
African varieties of oblivion –
Curious linkings of longing &
certain death – Hemingway’s
gangrenous ambitions,
the mountains taunting us
with impossibility –
The lake an unclosing eye – color
Blue, as if that were,
or we were,
simply a coincidence
or an echo of our own infinities.