Chris-Craft

Slipping from the dock
The reflected sky
Wrinkles as the boat
Glides toward open water

Shafts of light in front of me
Foreboding clouds flanking me

Eyes on the water
Eyes on the sky

Steering into a cove
Cut the engine

Drift

Spears of rain
Shatter the lake’s surface

I remain motionless
For there is no
Egress

This time
The storm passes quickly

A month later
A torrent swamped the boat

Pushing it
To the bottom of the lake