On the Dark Blue
The Lake
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Day and night, the lake dreams
of sky.
A privacy as old as the
mountains
And her up there, stuck among
peaks. The whole eye
Fastened on hawk, gatherings
of cloud or stars,
So little trespass. An
airplane once
Crossed her brow; she searched
but could not find
A face. Having lived with such
strict beauty
She comes to know how the sun
is nothing
But itself and the path it
throws; the moon
A riddled stone. If only a
hand
Would tremble along her cheek,
would disturb. Even the elk
Pass by, drawn to the spill of
creeks below—
How she cannot help abundance,
even as it leaves
Her, as it sings all the way
down the mountain.
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