And I am thinking of the dead man that I loved.
He was sweet and funny,
And there was transcendence in the making.
He took me to Door County in the winter
We stayed 2 nights in a funky cabin on the lake
The lake that is an inland sea.
And he, native to that place told me stories of sinking ships
And lost treasure and ghosts of the crews
That happened more often than you might expect on a lake.
For those who lived there, it was more than a lake to be wearied by tourists.
It was a great Deity to be worshipped.
It gave everything
And it took everything
And in his arms in the dark, I could hear
The cold, windy god, calling his children home.
“This is nothing to do with us” I thought….
Just ghost stories told in the beloved’s voice
On a magical few days that would never be repeated.
I don’t know how he died,
We lost touch after his marriage,
But I know
What we had those years was real,
But intermittent,
because he would not leave his Lake God then,
And I clung to my granite and maple temple.
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