Waves on a lake, what were we into.
The little motor paddled us past the harbor
then the bigger motor pulled us out
of sight of land
The rivers that feed her
kept catching fire: Detroit,
Cayuga. Way back
when. It’s safer now. Stripped to jeans
He launched off
the bobbing aft and punched
the water, surfacing too
far out, too long after.
Ponds and pools with ground to find,
I crouch in the hull, touching my feet.
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