You came, in this infinite solitude, on the edge of the lake. Last night I fetched you from the small town: you were dead tired, I had to carry you to your room.
And this morning, early, I saw you, standing in the silence, the calm, icy water half way to your knees, the black shawl over your shoulder. For long minutes we were immobile, taking in the immaculate beauty of these shores.
No words are needed. It has been so long: I know now that you will stay. All these years I hoped, alone. Perhaps you did, too.
You are here. The world is reborn, the trees are alive, and black is the water at your feet.
Soon, Spring will come, and we’ll walk through forests so old we will have to relearn their tongue – but maybe, you, will remember.
I look into your eyes, deeper than the lake.