Yearning for Home

Ready to go home, we looked out across
Web Lake and saw the noisy, clumsy loons
drifting down as the sun sank
behind purpling mountains.
 
Loons, with haunting cries,
spilling over the sleepy lake,
their black and white feathers
fading into the evening twilight.
 
We stood there, still as statues,
feeling the heartbeat of the lake
and all its creatures beating as one,
our hearts beating as one.
 
Ready to go home, we stood at another lake,
drinking up unbridled beauty in long, slow gulps:
Tahoe, with inky blue waters,
surrounded by rugged mountains.
 
Unwilling to turn away, we stood there,
still as statues,
feeling our hearts press against each other’s T-shirts
 as we said our good-byes.  
 
And by the next year, we had drifted apart,
like the waters of two separate lakes with separate views:
our faces beginning to blur and
fade into evening’s twilight.
 
We stood alone on separate shores,
 still as statues,
our hearts broken but still beating…
yearning for home.