We have hidden from the pandemic for two years.
Vaccinated and tested, we meet in Maine.
Four friends for more than fifty years.
Long forgiven faults.
Deep into drink and the dark,
around a fire, a few feet from the lake.
I ask, Is there anything left to believe in? Anything?
Like Lennon, I list the don’t believe ins.
There are no arguments here.
They say just to appreciate
the best in our lives,
know that we love,
and are loved.
I don’t know if that is enough.
As they go to bed one by one
I strip and walk into the lake,
hoping to awaken something
or to find a place in the lake’s blessing.
In the morning, I collect
my clothes, shoes,
phone and glasses.
All I had lost in the dark.