Lake a smoke-blue ceramic glaze as Pete’s
power boat etches cleanly, Frank and Kay
and I at ease as our captain, replete
with knowledge, cites landmarks along shoreway
massed with fir, pine, and rising peaks still tipped
with snow reflecting August morning sun.
We’re bound for Emerald Bay, where rippled
cerulean suddenly glows green. One
cedar on a near limestone cliff towers
over us, its crown a vast eagle’s nest.
Love, were you here, you’d rejoice at showers
of diamond tiaras flashing in crests
from our bow’s wake, its rainbow’s dipping sway
like schools of celestial dolphins at play.
Roger Armbrust
August 31, 2009
