The Loon

We are back in our old home,
your old home,
and once again, I wake up
to the cries
of the loon.
The sounds always make me
think of the story
you told my mother,
and who then told me,
that the loon
was lost,
and looking for its mother.
It matches the mornings
of this past week, really,
grey with a wariness
for the uncertainties
for forging out on
our own finally.
Even though we’ve returned
we are without