The lake is glass this morning
And the sailboats attest to this
Rising as far above the water
As their reflections shimmer below.
And the ducks and their children
Cut wedges in the water swiftly
As gulls fly overhead and out of sight
And a proud father swan returns
From his morning adventures
While his mistress and younglings
Sleep at the edge of an ancient piling:
Leftovers from a dock of lumbering days,
Making a nest for the images of the trees
That haunt the water in between.
The open water sports a layer of steam
To the untrained eye
And white-bellied catfish
Jumps at bugs above the water.
Pristine in its beauty
As the blue sky leaves its impression
Over all.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
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