On the Dark Blue


The Lake


Sophie Cabot Black


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.
Image of Sophie Cabot Black


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