by Lisa Townsend

Photograph by Frank Gorga
Photograph by Frank Gorga from “Autumnal Abstracts” series

Ducks paddle, delicate.
The shimmer of your light draws near.
Slowly we remember each other.

Now the moment is gradual
with empathy. Ripples follow

Islands outlive the families
of their namesakes.
Dragonflies skim.

Cloud diagonals
are not lost on the boaters,
as we forget our dreams.

Neighbors dwell in miniature
on the opposite shore.
Pinpoint lifeforms.

Hillsides echo their
beginnings. The loon calls across
the shadowed shoreline.

The darkness moves, warm
on the hillside, strange angle
in a strange bed.

Silent kayak glide,
a memory in the blackness.
We stir again.

There’s a bee among
the conifer fronds.
A movement across the ages.

We have already visited
the other shore, and felt its sands
damp beneath our feet.

There is a slow float
of ether above the green.
Rocks offshore

remember history.
The dead mingle with the living,
branches reaching askew.

Azure murmurs opal.
Neon wavelets leap from the
goldfinch-hued raft.

We forget ourselves in the
visible breezes arrayed celestial
before us.