we are packing lightly, our summer clothes.
you know the ones...
old tried and true faded threads.
to herald us across the clear water of loons.
others, with long sleeves and perfect pockets for earth treasures as we
follow overgrown paths to gather the last garnet berries of faceted sun.
at night our quiet feet will rest on the
edges of familiar stones,
ancient stations at the ring of fire where orange red flames will
lick each lazy night.
while a million star punched pin pricks of light will dance through
the tin colander of life's mysteries.
an infusion of campfire smoke and all those stories that fan the tendrils of curling smoke
delivering the contours of holy voices to each family member
who have left their footprints on the shoreline of hearts to take up life
in a black bowl of diamond night.
we are leaving for these last breaths of summer.
late mosquitoes, scarlet whispering leaves
that cannot help but dream of falling.
as we too
let the details of our lives slip away.
to travel back back back
to everything that is forever important.
a china bud vase
fragrant with wild roses on a sunbright table
in a blue grey cabin,
with a screen door
that can barely wait to open for us.
when the first loon calls
loss pierces me, inhaling
this last breath of love.
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i will arrive tomorrow to a blue grey cabin on a Minnesota lake
and relish each one.