Here floats the mind on summer’s dock.
The knees loose up, hands dither off,
the eyes have never heard of clocks.
The mind won’t feel the hours, the mind spreads wide
among the hours, wide in sun. Dear sun,
who gives the vision but is not the vision.
Who is the body and the bodies
that speak into the dark below the dock.
Who to the minnows in the sand-sunk tire
seems like love.
Make us the brightness bent through shade.
The thing, or rush of things, that makes
an opening, a way.
Right from the first line of this poem, I’m floating in the warmth and ease of summer, on summer’s dock. Here we have an appeal to the mind which spreads wide / among the hours, wide in the sun. The poet assures us that time loses its meaning, the eyes have never heard of clocks, a summer phenomenon so delicious to experience.
The body, as knees loose up, hands dither off, opens into a slower way of being, more liquid, pliable. Can you feel this too, even if you are not on an iconic summer lake dock? She takes us deeper to the minnows in the sand-sunk tire in their effortless dance below the surface which seems like love, and is it not?
To me, there is a dreamlike quality of both the tactile dock with the brightness of the sun, and the rush of things, that makes / an opening, a way. Summer, a time out of time, a time to be present in our bodies. Enjoy!