Old Men

You stretch out your legs
Bumpy and stubbled
Lying over there
On your side
Of the lake
Like some tired old man
Taking up the whole length
You are almost mountain
More foothill
Crouching now
As if at rest

Your back
And your shoulders
Show clear white
Where loggers
Shaved you clean
Years back
But this morning's light snow
Rested only where it is high and cold
Ignoring the scars
Further down
Down at your belly

I, too, have my scars
Some up high
White
And some untouched
Still
By falling snow
Here where I lie
Apart
Extending my legs
This far side of the lake

Two old men
Who would be mountains
We cradle the lake between us now
Reclining
Resting
Building our strength
For what?