We floated the Catawba east beyond
Hickory, curling its jagged curve south
past battalions of trees and scattered ponds
dotting deep-foliaged shoreline to mouth
of Lake Norman, its coastline with thickets
of houses pushing back pines and hardwoods.
A King Rail flurried by us so quick it
caused gasps, then held us in such awe we stood
and watched it turn from blackened brown to flame,
lost in the dusk’s sun pillar—its crimson
explosion a bright geyser of light framed
by lava-like clouds, and a fading crown
of geese heading north. The magic waters
slowly ebbed into a deep vault of stars.
Roger Armbrust
August 18, 2011
