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.