When we went to Ontario

we often saw Adirondack chairs

at the end of a pier that extended far

into lake after lake

they didn’t make you feel sad exactly

they were kind of a blues note

that stirred a yearning

for another life, or for something

that may never be

sometimes two people

would be sitting there

looking out on the lake

not saying anything

but mostly there were just

the chairs, at the end of the pier

then the lake

and the changing light

the chairs were waiting

people not making it down to the water

as often anymore

sometimes only one, angled

to suggest the favorite perspective of a spouse

who had become part of the view.

It seems irrefutable that we die alone

even after a long life together

but those chairs made you uncertain

as if everything were poised—

boulders in a boulder field—

we drove by each lake

piers carrying chairs would float into view

glide along the side window

slightly more slowly

than cars we were passing

contract in the mirror

and disappear.

Then they beckoned us from memory

their solitariness corresponded to our own

afflicted us with their forlorn being

tempting us

not to leave them behind.

But it had to be

like young forced to fend for themselves

we knew we couldn’t yield to their call

we had to leave

or we’d never be able to keep going

through those birch forests

that got shorter

and shorter as we drove

toward the top of the world.

We wanted to say goodbye

to the polar bears.