Fat white-gray clouds on blue
beyond the rugged pine shores,
east beyond Indian and Wolf Mountains,
west beyond Chaumont Swamp and Twin Mountain,
north beyond Bear Mountain in the saddle of Cranberry Lake,
south beyond Five Ponds and Deer Mountain,
gone before we round the point at The Narrows,
headlong into the wind, pulling water
on both sides of the canoe.
THIS CURRENT’S COURSE
Nameless stream, a whisper among boulders and tree roots,
a tired whisper after the dam holding an acre-sized beaver pond
breached, let loose a river from up the mountain, straightening
the meandering curves of this small seam, bounding,
fanning wide into the moss, fern, rock and pines
before circling back and rushing on.
From the relative depths of a dark cut
beneath a knot of exposed birch roots,
an eager brook trout attacks my fly.
Bright gem catching a glint of sunlight
in this almost accidental universe.
Large in the large scheme of things.