The Divorce and Reconciliation of Infinity, Blog 1

There is a lake that settles slowly in its man-made hole.
I look toward the middle hoping for a hand, anything--
the trees on the other side, a vision, something dancing
across the water--but there is an infantile fear inside
of me--a want to defame. Behind me there is a noise
that feels like a tap on the bottom of my skull. I turn
thinking deer tick. There is a fingerprint between my
eyes leading back along an index finger that seems too
measurable a distance to be real--a length that I both
know yet don't completely believe--and the body is
similar--fully clothed in white, neatly tucked, in a
symmetrical sense so well put together that it frightens
me. "Stop," he says. "What?" I say. Pop! I turn...
The lake--like a finger stuck in the cheek and pulled--
like a pop culture reference I'm afraid to mention--
a sound too organic to be human, but a hand, in the
middle of the lake, or a finger rising, a middle finger
rotating slowly toward me or...I am on the ground
muddy, the man in white rolling over me but not
getting dirty. "Quick," he says. "But..." I say.
He drags me by the collar toward the mountain
behind us. I follow, "But...who?" He doesn't say
anything, just keep moving forward, not much
worried about what I'm thinking, or maybe that is--
"Wait," I say--but he keeps moving. I turn
as a full naked body rises from the lake, a man,--
"But," I say. The man in white drags me back
over the mountain and there is a road. "Here,"
he says, pointing toward a white SUV. "But...,"
I say, getting into the passenger seat, "but...
who?" "The number 8," he says, and starts the car.