CONVERSATION WITH THE BOY IV

CONVERSATION WITH THE BOY IV

This is going nowhere, I mumble
Always has, the boy responds
My feet are wet and cold
My lower back is starting to complain
And I am out of questions

You could always leave
The boy suggests
He stands on the shore
Thin form trembling
As if from cold
But I know it is not so

He is waiting for the next question
The lake glistens
The stones lie in cold dreaming
The boy and I
Sit on the rocky shore
Donning our shoes

I look at the boy
His face thin and vigorous
The way his young hands
Fly with the laces
He feels me looking
And lifts his eyes
An offering, an opening
Do you know the next question?, I ask

No, he replies
The boy looks up
Face of clouds
But I know the answer

Cold spiders run up and down my spine
What is the answer? I ask

Everything, he says
It colors everything