THE SHORE

for Steve

Then, you turned from me in failing light,

trees startling into sleep,

snow rearranging itself in slender branches.

In the blue air of winter, at dusk,

I stood at the shore in icy reeds,

watching you skate a path across the pond

I was sure would crack when you reached

its centre. The clearing behind the house

opens in memory. Fear

stopped me then as now. Trying

to be brave, to get this right,

I am still the one at the water’s edge,

watching the distance between us

grow wider, feeling the thread that binds us

loosen. What happens to love

in such moments? Even now,

as you sit in this morning’s light

and I cannot trace the lines of your face,

I struggle to see you clearly:

not the man I love but the man

who is, finally, simply himself.