There is a lull in lake swells,
like the bellows of the lungs, or music,
or light cresting over the rise.

My canoe smacks the water, then rests
its keel’s head upon the water.
I allow my arm muscles to relax,

let the song of the water go soft.
Twilight begins licking the water’s edge.
I could stay here, and rock until sleep.

I could coast in this endless day
as fireflies shiver their lights.
A loon’s loneliness enters my ears.

It would be so easy to stay here
where nothing happens in the absence
of worry and the sound of the water.

It would be so easy. Let water sift.
Just toss the paddles, go limp.
Let the body ease into the shores of silence.