At night, the cool air whispers a long, misty chill.
Frogs peep their peeps for the first time
since last summer’s moon.
The Lake Ice cracks, sways,
darkens and kneels
to the deep, cold water below.
You wait on your island
for the Lake Ice to leave
before we can be together once again.
Your reality is my metaphor.
Your iscolation is my loniless.
Up until now, we beheld each other, held each other
and fell into Love’s warmth and passion.
A warmth, we both hope may quickly melt the coldness away.
But now, until the Lake Ice leaves in weeks, maybe more
We both must wait to behold our new spring Love
To return into each other’s arms
and into each other’s lives.