her lake, your lake

she calls you from her
lake,
as you walk around
the broad band of
gravel and paved
trails of yours.
she tells you about
the pebbled silver
of the flat
water as she turns
a bend and stares at
the warm sun
going down. you tell
her about the soft
blue lap
of waves, just ripples
melting into
one another, then
sand. separated by
miles, you walk together
on this late
afternoon in a circle,
not quite, but almost
hand in hand.