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Lac Vert, Québec

by Susan McMaster
Ottawa Monthly Meeting
Ottawa, Ontario

When they leave, the lake
     seems to sharpen, grow clearer,
as if we'd turned the lens
     on your father's binoculars,
the hills step closer,
     water flashes in our faces
as we lie back, stare sleepily
     at loons, the other shore.

"Alone at last," you say,
     tipping your hat over your eyes,
but together at last
     is how it feels,
gathered into the bay
     with the rocks and the pines
and the crows crak-crakking
     louder it seems
than they did minutes before
     as we called "Goodbye"
to weekend friends.

Now we doze on the beach
     absorbed under a comforter
of hazy clouds,
     lulled by the whoosh and buzz
of fly and wind.

Through half-closed lids
     you seem to swing closer
then recede into the burn
     of sun from sand
       forward and back
          forward and back
with the loo-loo-loo of waves
     as I surge, retreat,
fall into dream,
     matching your dance
with my own sleepy drift
     alone together at last and
all one

- Susan McMaster

Susan McMaster is an Ottawa poet.