The Sixth Lake
Deep within the wooded thick of a coniferous forest's vascular limbs,
A chorus of loons cry in mosaic croons which echo from where they swim.
They swim in a lake, the sixth of eight; a link in a mountain chain,
Forged by the damming of rivers filled by the gathering of rain.
As the birds' words wash across the polish of water sitting still,
Moonlight melts in speculum upon this lake of swallowed ichorous swills.