Saturday, December 15, 2007



Staring through the rusty screen
on the tall paned window
in my office,
at blue-gray haze hanging
over the halcyon mirror
of American Lake,
and above
the postage-stamp sized island
at the lake's center,
to the majesty of Rainier,
a glimmering blue-pink
ghost mountain,
wearing a flat cap
of white clouds.

Three Canadian geese rose
off the cold green water
and winged together
in a tight formation south,
past the island,
past the dusky treetops lining
the North Fort shore;
soon out of sight,
their clarion honking
still hanging in the stillness
of the spring afternoon,
until it drifted away from me,
like spirit birds.

My heart was heavy
with five days
of missing you.
I longed for
precious moments alongside you,
your tiny hand
slip into mine,
your eyes studying my face,
your lips poised
for some level of embrace,
with the clean smell of your hair
and our love-making
still mixed thick in the air.

this weekend
I would not rush home
and pack an overnight bag,
and speed into the night,
past postcard lakes and rivers,
past farms
that belonged on puzzle boxes;
just a passionate rider
on a dark shaft
aimed straight at you.

I will not because
the tangled intricacies
of our daily schedules
manacled our meeting,
and separated our souls.

Standing there,
with the late afternoon sun
caressing the tallest ridges
on Rainier,
I heard a shrill cry
of eagles.

A flurry north
caught my eye,
and filled the sky
with the nesting pair
that ruled over the lake.

Flying together,
they froliced on the currents,
diving down
to skim like bullets
over the smooth dark water,
looping and soaring up
over the tall gray-green firs;
tumbling, flapping, floating, flying,
absolutely together;
mates for life.

my chest swelled with joy,
as we,
wingtip to wingtip
that royal pair,
harmonious and free,
weightless in the wind
at God's feet;
and I reminded myself
that I would soon
see you,
that regardless of the complexities,
our Love
could not be

Glenn Buttkus 1989

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