I dreamt of lakes

and loons who call

across the empty space

while the mist is lifting

off the weeds,

their bodies disappearing

like drowning men

who sink below the surface.

Of stormy waters

and waves so large

they will tip our laden canoe

as we paddle in our ponchos

in the rain,

the wind blowing in our faces

the bow heading into the slanting drops

that hit us like bullets,

and the shore just out of reach.

We have to close the gap!

Of a glass surface

over which I glide, my kayak

cutting the water like a knife,

the large granite stones

passing below like the bones of giants

who passed away

long ago

and now only their voices

still beckon me to slip

down to meet them in the deep,

the dark mysterious deep

where I cannot see below.

And I am standing on the beach

as the setting sun strikes the trees

on the other shore

and all is still, not moving

the surface hard as ice but

luminous and clear,

the blue sky still reflected in its eye 

the vast expanse brought down to 

be contained in the vessel of the lake.

The perfect beauty is too much for me.

I throw a stone

that drops with a plunk

and pushes circle ripples outward

to fade again into the stillness.

And for a moment

in the infinite expanse of time and space

I could see

that I was here.