He's the only one who noticed, like I did, the pond is evaporating. In five months, a couple feet. He knows too because we sit together at its edge and study the shrinking level. We do this every day. He listens and exhales. Then I listen and exhale. Then neither of us is talking but a bald eagle circles overhead and we track it, knowing this place is only freedom because we are here together. Soon we see there are two eagles circling, lifted in liberty and not alone. I wonder out loud how long they'll be able to stay up there before they must come down. He says forever and unrolls a blanket in the tall grass. We'll lay hidden there, exposed and entwined for awhile, an hour, perhaps two if we're lucky, in a secret place no one can find. And while we are lost in each other the cruel sun heats the pond and takes more inches up into the ether. Another day has passed. How long can we stay up here before we have to come down? How many inches do we have left?