Crossing the Water

Black lake, black boat, two black, cut-paper people.

Where do the black trees go that drink here?
Their shadows must cover Canada.


A little light is filtering from the water flowers.

Their leaves do not wish us to hurry:
They are round and flat and full of dark advice.


Cold worlds shake from the oar.

The spirit of blackness is in us, it is in the fishes.

A snag is lifting a valedictory, pale hand;

Stars open among the lilies.

Are you not blinded by such expressionless sirens?
This is the silence of astounded souls.

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