Eroded,
undercut,
sagging for years beneath the weight
of a dead sycamore,
the bank gave way
when the lake was closed
and the dams opened up
during the winter overflow,
leaving the tree offshore,
hunkered down in the water,
half submerged,
its white branches groping the sky
like a blind spider waiting to prey.
The boat just happened to be there
(its outboard, suddenly crippled,
useless against the current),
swept...
Continue reading...