i believe

10 am
in the craft
and I’m looking out
at the mine
in the distance
in the shafts
of light swirl
in the soup
of this lake

in the bottom
of the boat: is line, lure and
bait (small, feathered, metallic creatures
painted the colours
favoured by old ladies)
my hands
fresh egg smeared
from the soft insides
the fish
we’ve already caught.


when we paddle further out
you complain
about everything
I don’t .

in the happily float
here
in the echos
and the inlets
where we climb sharp rocks
and sit