stow the screens, tarp the chairs, try to recall
the joke she
told by the fire near the lake under
a low moon,
was the dog still here, were the kids gone yet?
So long to
late night swims dipped to the neck in black ink
starlight that rode the ripples in winking
our hands moved like unseen fish brushing by.
autumn settled softly, rounded edges,
sifted in, buried us up to the neck,
that the endless adventure was only
a tale told
by a fire, near a lake, ending, sweet.
November 18, 2011