The Millennial Pedestrian

Lake Star

This old canoe and I
have drifted to the middle of the lake.
It’s late, and I’m out here
to watch and listen
in the night
for any speck of wisdom
lake or sky or shore
may choose to share.  

Constellations. inside out,
replicate themselves
in deep black water.
Two bright stars shine
dead ahead: one below
the lake’s enamel skin,
the other, colder, steadier,
hangs just above
my canoe’s curved bow.
They both look close enough to touch.

Now a big black dog
barking on a dock
jumps off and paddles toward
the star that quivers in the lake.
His sleek black head’s reflected
over and over in the liquid gleam.
He wants to catch this sparkly floating foil
and bring it back to someone waiting on the shore.

Venus watches her remote reflection
vanish in the dog’s excited jaws –
laughs, and shifts her icy gaze
to another summer lake
as Cerberus swims off.
The undevoured star
glimmers once again as ripples still
and one by one the cabin lamps
around the lake blink out.
I hear a whippoorwill.
I hear the far-off rush of wind through treetops.

This entry was posted on Friday, December 30th, 2005.
It's part of the Old Poems category.
Feel free to leave a comment at the bottom of the page.
You can be alerted via RSS when a comment on this post is made.
You can get an email when a new piece of writing is added to the site.