We walk around Shannon Lake
in spring. Everything smells wet,
and lazy afternoon light
makes us feel barely awake
till we pick up our pace, get
up close with flowers, the white
bunchberry, the cinnamon
fern under shade-spotty sun.
This lake lacks a dock, no sign
of people breaking up thin
waves with a horsepowered boat.
Alone: isn’t it so fine
to be together here, skin
tingling, no need of a coat?
originally appeared in One Trick Pony (2002)
Ice and Gaywings 