By the Lake

It is quiet here, except for

the thin buzzing of insects

circling and circling -

fine threads of sound

that mend water and sky.

They belong to the lake

like the far-off blare

of a frog's horn, or the couple

drifting past in their boat.

Stillness closes the water

after them like a door.

I hardly notice time

slipping away as evening

pours into the lake.

Slender trees turn themselves

into columns

to shoulder the dark.

With each breath

the lake seems

to shrink a little -

as if the water's rim,

flinching from the world,

were swimming back

toward the warmer depths

of its own blue center.