I looked at the expanse of the lake and I saw you standing
on the southern shore, beckoning over the ice, calling me
to the warmth of another place and another time, a time just past
or just to come, a place where we could make our lives singular,
a home of some sort: a kind of happy thing.
I wondered what the hell you were thinking,
secreting things away in the old oaks off the highway,
and showing things, to squirrels that weren’t me,
Showing them parts of you I haven’t met yet,
and wonder if I will: a kind of sad thing.
We see chemtrails and ticker tape, because nothing
is meant to last, not our bodies at least, but we can
love each other long enough to be on the same side of the lake,
to walk the same path, through the woods, through today and
tomorrow to something beyond: a hopeful thing.
The future is never here, never now, never north
or south, just distant, and I won’t let distance stop this.
I’m not afraid to climb, swim, cross that ice,
snowshoe, ski, or hike to you, because I know what my
journey is: the destination. You.