we welcomed the sun
and i told you to hold my hand

you retired and gave in
you listened

the rocks below
sang their sweet melody
back
out
to the great lake
while we watched our hands grow dark
at the same time intertwined

it was something from a dream
something
mr. robert frost himself
would write
but
your skin grew cold

and i couldn't remember the recipe
to bring you back to life
no pen or quill or knife

not a vision
or sound
could bring you back
to solid ground

so i watched you float away
singing of distance and virtue
and fate
and the like

screaming out into the night