When the Motor Cut
The outboard chugged along
toward the end of the lake
where the tall peaks were.
When the motor cut, all was still.
Then snowcapped mountains
began to rise-up from the lake;
eagles flew under our hull.
Imagine staring at your float,
humped like a heron over the bow
while a panoramic sky
moved under your boots.
Imagine Rainbow trout
sailing around the sun.
No way to catch that.
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