If there be loons here,
then, they are hiding,
perhaps in the tall fronds along the shore
where I walk no more
with you beside me.
Once we heard a beaver slap his tail
the birds startling from the trees,
your ears perking up,
wolfish and knowing.
There will be no end to my tears,
so lonely is life without you.
Yet yesterday, I breathed in
a deep draught of dry, crackly leaves
and, in that moment,
was purely happy.
Life goes on.
We were two souls, traveling.
We are still two souls, traveling,
just on different planes,
and I cant find a loon anywhere,
for solace at Loon Lake.