Skiff In a Low Place

The hull lolls, anchored to a fouling current. Juggernauts of heat sleep under a leaden sky, bugs lurch and slow skirt. I nod over my spine, afloat on a humming haze. An osprey jumps out of a high ambit, swooping fast. I imagine a wind in the wake of its wings. The bird dives, cleaves the light, arrow bright parting the weight of these doldrums. The wallowing skiff seems to shrug off the heavy air as talons scoop up a wriggling fish together with my up-lifted mind.