“Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.”
 ― T.S. Eliot

Fresh water suits my watery nature.
 I squint into the ripples of redemption,
 watch the ducks glide quietly beside me

Keeping me on the straight and narrow,
or trying to,
the random calls of strangers splatter across
the swirling sky as I choke on what I know ,
I am not crying, cannot even whisper, or sigh.

Mountains and sky reflected in water where
the ordinary has become the extraordinary
among the golden gleams of sunset
we look, blind, into the sun 
see nothing.

For here, too, light and shade are parting,
flashes of lightning split the far horizon 
these southern skies populated with stars 
float lazily, I am surrounded by a soft mist.
I feel disturbingly clean shaven.

I gaze into the growing gloom,
the shaded bay has done with the town lights,
though I know they are somewhere there, mirrored in the lake,
my stomach rumbles as I swallow my hunger, again.

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