Wails
Stepping outdoors, into this cloudless Monday morning,
Before driving to the Duluth airport, flying home,
We hold hands, slow-walk through the quiet village,
And, reprising our shared pleasures of this mid-June,
Pause, down by the village's sandy, vacant public beach.
Your fingers entwined in mine, lingering, lingering,
We stand, entranced, on the edge of this becalmed lake
And swoon to the wails of two loons, across the bay,
Knowing we'll never lose sight of their sounds.
06/25/12 - (2)
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