Lake Song LDW

The water’s music sighs against my inner ear
its ghost voice singingĀ faintly
of weeds and mud
of stones and bones
of a ‘primordial soup’ I dip my toe into
from the side of your boat
(a soup that nibbles on me with its many mouths
as I drink it all in, the lake, its fish, its mosquitoes,
even this far from shore.)
But it’s not this noisy quietude
not whippoorwill nor splash of trout
that whispers in my ear the best.
It’s you.
Far away from the shore of the norm
I am rocked by you
as if I am the small boat
suspending us both
over a tributary of wonder. — Annette Marie Smith