riding the circumference of Lake Superior
around the lake that breathes like an ocean
a curve of sun tracks our faces:
we plow into winds, watch
a cloudburst bloom and
in the tent, later that night
under a storm-fest of lightening and rain we
feel the weight of a fleshy love
damp, ever-true, ever-lasting
I never guessed we’d make it back in time
for my fitting of the dress with blue flowers I
wore at your sister’s wedding when
you squeezed my hand at I
do
do
I never guessed it’d be the last time I’d
ride the white line, with you
Sweet!
That white line is an intriguing note to end on . . .