Lake Thoreau

my feet follow the chatter, eyes tracing the perimeter:

duckweed, water thyme, and cattail frame the scene.

above, two wisps of clouds have formed, their reflections

mirrored in the blue below.

my eyes, weary white and gray, turn to the right—

three wooden planks rest atop the sun-dappled lake

yielding to the current’s cadence

humans lie flat, soaking the warmth into their pale skin.

the strange human beings rattle on, like the whistling whale;

their calls are that of howler monkeys, echoing three miles away.

voices wrap around the lake, the great beloved, lake thoreau.

bundles of fresh fall trees embrace the lake, all lined up for their special guests.

But—don’t leave yet! they cry, weeping for more time.

what little time they get to talk and chatter with the humans,

what little time they get to release the orange, the green, the red onto the soil,

hoping to amuse

a child or two.