Descending through the underbrush
And redwood gloom, they reach a lake —
Its surface glides, suffused with calm;
Offshore, the willows lean to shake
Light from their branches. Everywhere
She meets the indolence she sought;
But he feels something in that drift,
Precarious, yet growing taut.
Revealed, it widens in the flare
Of wings and gleam of a white throat:
Rising violently, a loon
Drags water into points of light,
And distant now, becomes its shadow.
The man stops at the water’s edge,
Still listening. The day turns amber.
Light settles in the ferns and sedge.
When she came up and took his arm,
They knew at once it was too late;
They found each other in that realm,
Suspended, deeply separate,
Where the cold forms of water birds
In flight divide the vacant air,
And leave these two on quiet ground,
Absorbed by what they cannot share.