Last night, at the lake,
we walked along the shore
arm in arm
picking wild raspberries
just plump and sweet enough to eat.
We listen to the lapping of the waves,
feel them licking our bare toes
in the quiet knowing that we will be going
‘I wish I had a pail,’ my Mother says.
But even the heart isn’t big enough
to contain this moment.
We do our best to make the berries last
until the sun is slowly swallowed
by the lake
the last juices of the sunset.