“Shall we swim to the other side?” you ask,
your sly smile, even the watersnake adores.
“Let’s go!” I say.
Sunday at White Pond.

For a brief afternoon, anyway,
we learn what it’s like
to be lovers.

We discover how to follow
the flow of day.
When you fall behind,
I slow down for you.
When you want to float,
I stay away,
and let your drink the silence alone.
Whatever we find on the other side,
we’re eager and willing and prepared, we say.

Oh, if only it were as simple as the pond,
if only our souls were as patient as the still water
on the passing summer day.

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