Jake A. Poet Sonnet

By a Lake In the Morning

Soft is smoke that flows over the waters
resting only during dawn, then fading
off into the distant hands of potters,
who will make it new again, as trading
long forgotten things for one another,
for awhile I sat and looked at the lake
trying not to make myself a bother,
softly as potters went about their make,
dare I breathe, as soft as feathers falling
so light on something that is warm and curved,
truly, sitting there I'm hardly breathing
watching smoke and leaves as they have swerved,
all the while I listen to the stillness
when the smoke will cure a broken illness.

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