Rising off a lake at early light,
at first I didn’t recognize you there.
But somehow, in an afternoon,
we were in the same place
at the same time,
catching the right bus at a corner
in a different town.
Chance sat us together,
but there is no chance.
We talked all night
from Fontana to sun up.
Now, when the river passes,
we see the same paper boat,
the same wild flapping
of a heron rising,
the smooth depth charge
of a western grebe.
We see the visual,
then we hear the back beat.
It’s all music,
it’s suppose to happen,
it’s happened before
and we’re here for all of it.