What could have been better,
your house a stone's throw from mine.
I could almost hear you doing your laundry:
A loose coin in the drier; you, humming
a nameless song while neatly folding
away your belongings.

You would have then sat out on the grass
near the pond that adjoins our two homes,
lazily reading a summer book in the morning air.
Our Sunday afternoon strolls around our lake
now only during rare visits, a synchronous break
bridging two busy schedules.

From the edge of the pond
I toss a small flat stone
so it skims along the thin layer of mist
hovering above the water's surface
near the shore.
It touches upon this surface
then moments later, disappears
in small shimmering ripples of morning light.

These crescents, these tiny gentle wakes of sun:
your smile.
And I sit patiently along the shore,
eyes closed and hand in water,
waiting to feel a small wave
of your golden warmth.

© 2003 Chad Johr
STONE'S THROW
chad johr
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