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The Green Lake

In Amelia Curzon blogs on September 1, 2013 at 2:02 am

l i g h t room

She’d had no inkling at all
No sense, exactly when or how
Or why, things crumbled apart
How she had let go of good
It had happened she supposed
During an ice age of setbacks
Metamorphosing her slowly
Until she’d turned to stone
A precambrian island afloat.

Now, bending into breezes
Set adrift with purpose
Arms jutted like toothpicks
On a tray of hors d’oeuvres
Her paddle dipped deep
Splashing silvery memories
On cupola-windowed shores
Recalling childhood days
Learning to canoe on Moon Lake.

Listening as great rocks sang
As choppy ozone winds & waves
Stirred her to twist stiff oars
Wide, stretching across waters
Where a bird dove after fish
And a lone loon’s song
Lifted her spirits again
Awaking. Her & the green lake
Laughing, expanding, moving on.

© 2013 S. Michaels
Green Light Diary

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