Down at the lake, trout
lip the surface, surrounding
midges in concentric circles.
The neighbor’s rubber raft
has blown up on our beach,
the way a city wind blows
a bag into an alley.
Heat left the dock planks
an hour ago--
the cars coming down
the steep drive finger
the lake with soft headlights.
I remember how you pulled me
down into the reeds for love
once. We counted migrating geese,
the way they lifted up
in one graceful octave.
We should have followed them;
you might have touched me
in a field where
the wildflowers grow.
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