through the water.
A bird's eye view
from the window above.
The lake is still, flat like a mill pond.
The morning is young,
and she slips through the water
like a pale shadow.
After the melodramatic Bad Laundry, I thought a short prose poem might fit the bill. I wrote this on a scrap of paper about 10 years ago after a trip to Vermont with my folks. I like it because it catches one of those peaceful moments that are so fleeting. I never submitted it anywhere.
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