This poem was recently revised, and due to formatting problems has been re-posted out of chronological order. 

Sweet Water

April 28 2009

I have always lived on the shore of a lake,

in easy sight

of water.

Its possibility, and promise.

What lies beneath

its glassy calm,

the white froth

when it freshens.

When the nearest city

is too far to see,

and the knowing

is good enough.

A mere glow

on clear nights

somewhere south.

There is the harbour, the narrows

- a quicksilver finger

tempting our land-locked state.

Where the breeze quickens

gulls wheel, and screech,

water

advances, recedes.

The mind empties

the world breathes.

Seasons succeeding

as they’ve always done.

The breaking-up, an early freeze.

A flotilla of ducks, the skirl of geese.

The first loon

slipping seamlessly under.

Today, flat and grey.

A small lake, no way out.

So I circumnavigate the world

here,

paddling alone

hewing to shore.

Could reach out and touch

but don’t.