A silken lake, rocks golden with algae under the sun.

Near shore their suddenly creased greyness flusters

the surface to a crinkly sparkle.

Squinting, I look to either side, a habit born in youth

— who now will pause to look at these old folds? —

My towel shrugs to the dock-boards, one foot reaches down

to the stepping stone

for a quick slide into water.

My body feels as fluid as the loon’s grace looks

as she dives from her carefully kept distance.

Alone, her call reverberates. The air, for a moment, thickens

 as she waits.