Savior of Torch Lake

Arms and legs peddling struggling I tread In the middle of the lake There is 300 feet of blue water Between the soles of my feet And the 10,000 year old dance floor beneath. Torch Lake never gives up her dead. The lake’s bottom is pocked With springs bursting as jets from Middle Earth Jumbling boulders like popcorn. This is where the drowned bodies sink Irretrievable by dive teams or priests Those Ojibwa fishermen ripped from their Birch canoes Loggers clunked dead on their heads Great Depression titans Still stitched to their britches Top hats and bow ties Pistols clutched to their hands Wives sunk from hurt and betrayal Factory workers snapped in two A young girl from a rowboat Caught in a sudden storm Clapping for her tossed dog She dove in. I wonder from down there Where they’re all doing the jig What I look like to them Up here? Another man walking on his knees?