The Rock

In my youth, in cutoffs,
crewcut blooming, the rock
dividing our river became
a planet we named, rough
and round, crusted in patches
bluish in others with knobs
jutting strongly enough
to hold ourweight against
the current, giving us reason
to trust our futures, later our
memories of how we stretched against
its heat until erosion
had its way and something
I knew as solid and ceaseless
split open so completely
I could no longer see myself.