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McCarthy Lake

Every place you plant yourself is added to the dwelling of your soul

I was compelled by the slope and all who had trod here to find the point where the sand ended. My companion knelt in its warmth, happier to stay.

At my feet, this riotous field of small poems recite their ode to a pink hued gale force laugh.

While you attend this moment you are stretching time and space. Do not worry that your dwelling here will cause any debt in the future.

This morning breathes with ancient grace and begs a body quietude O She is sublimely stitched, each coloured thread divinely spun.

In looking I lost count of the colours I saw in the sand. Even the cloud who said it was a white billow was misrepresenting itself.

Every piece of light touches a memory shard. We are draped in a story cloak of our chapters

Something unspoken swirls away from me, leaves a dust outline where it once sat. Filters out, and sinks into the chilly moon soaked earth

The end of summer’s grace has Huron’s tousled hemline tangling our legs in her numbing froth

We speak of loneliness as if to rid ourselves of it. But it was while you were away that I discovered this exquisite melancholy of fall