I dreamed they were here,/My video camera ran,/
dancing with the lake’s waves/
and the sky’s reflections.
My fingers froze,
trying to hold lens steady,
silently breathing.
I’ve learned to be quiet,
to live with the pain
of stillness.
It was all worth it
to hear a lone loon
call the sunset goodbye.
Man-made intrusions/She asked why poems were/
about others, not her. They/
weren’t. This is. Goodbye.
Change.
Change is good.
Change is fun.
Change is.
Change.
The wordsmith, struck dumb,/Her long departure/
caused him to wonder where she’d/
gone and to do what.
He imagines hugs/
of him, spiritual giant,/
safely holding her.
He wondered why a/
joyful, deep confirmation/
would be a bad thing.