surface

i am standing there across
from you, twisting my hair
into a braided rope

like the lines they send
down to people drowning in
a sea storm's tumbling waves
because they were stupid enough
to defy their constricting pupils

or like cables, taught,
that bring up the skiers
with blue skin, numbed
from being buried in the avalanche
they heard rumbling in their bones

and when i leave to
wash my hands
-- thumb ring-less; i lost it
in another --

i avoid your gaze in the yellow light.
i know already:
the haggard look, slightly
blackened rings that
age and mar
despite nature's deception

i know already:
a glance would make me quake.
so i dip my head
and continue through the swinging doors