STILL CENTER

Alone. It’s

as if no one else exists anywhere.

And so much noise. The lip, lip of

water pressing boat walls; the creak

of oarlock; flick of dragonflies;

lake flat as a table I lay my thoughts

upon, like so many papers: shuffled,

arranged. For the first time

in a long while, no clutter. My mind trim,

in order. I place my hand flat upon water,

feel the stones’ weight underneath my boat; feel

fern algae arc and wave; feel the fish, whatever

it is they have for hearts, pumping, ticking.

The shoreline pulls back further.