On the Yahara

"Shot gold, maroon and violet, dazzling silver,  emerald, fawn,
The earth's whole amplitude and Nature's multiform power
consign'd for once to colors;" – Whitman, from "A Prairie Sunset"








Yahara Spring VI



The brown backwaters in Spring flush by the chop of waves,
aqua, charcoal, silver marine waves powered by a deep
and ever churning blue that carries
ever upward from the unseeable universe of lower depths
toward the surface and holds
         its own show of floating lights.

Over its top – when silent, when floating by canoe or kayak –
that great hiss of geese wings pass low,
their flat heels off the surface had lifted off in tandem,
         the lead goose blindly honking,
then the partner responding, up they go across
the lake like ancient ships oaring forward in unison.

Off in the distance, redheaded ducks flit back and forth
in silhouettes, radiant heads pecking at the solar wind.

Eagle, majesty, white-tailed, fan-tailed, wings
from pine bough to pine bough as the trunks twist
at its landing, watches the world of water for fish.