the lake

on the sacred stones, I left them
close to the shore, discarded
almost new, I wasn't —
the crystal lake waited
so had I
now I sought
a different kind
of peace, like the fish
deep below the clear surface
there were no more doubts
clouding my eyes, though the shoes
would only slow my pace
for even six decades
of shadows, my strength
rarely waned

far out of sight
the invisible island waits
patiently for my advent
no angels come
to this barren place
of our ancestors
waiting to add my soul
to their collective memory

the brown shoes were almost new
a youth will discover them
treasure them
wear them until they too
become old and useless
he will know not to seek that man
who's destiny had taken him farther
than the shores of the hidden lake


the lake
[2008.23.6…a]
Written for the Pond Poetry Forum