PORCH LIGHTS
There is a light on the opposite side of the bay
Not much more than a mile away.
I look at it most every night
Not knowing who turns on that light.
I've heard they are come from aways
A term that is seldom used these days.
For away is where most everyone has gone
For extended trips across the pond.
Some to battles in forgotten wars
Some to explore distant shores.
We could visit on one of our walks
To continue our porch light talks.
But they may as well be on the moon
I know they arrive sometime in June.
Later than our box of wood swallows
To the loon's haunting calls that follow.
I look north, they look south
At opposite ends of the harbour's mouth.
Before the telephone and modern forms of communication
The evening lamps were a celebration.
As darkness fell one by one the houses spoke
From across the lake, they all awoke.
That was the time they choose to visit
Camerons, MacKays and Calders
Now replaced by spruce trees and alders.
In a time of endless light
We can no longer see the night
or even watch the moon in flight.
I should shut off my computer and take that walk
Before I forget how to talk.