David Pratt
August Day
We paddled slowly in the midday heat
along a shore compact with birch and pine
until we reached an isolated point. Bare feet
burned on the granite rocks on which we walked
We swam, ate lunch, and fished: drank wine,
studied the loons, were silent swam, and
talked.
You sat and watched a heron as it rose,
following its flight with friendly, thoughtful
eyes,
your tanned lithe body graceful in repose.
That moment held it all: the red canoe,
the iridescent wings of dragonflies,
the golden sun, the amber wine, and you.
Page(s) 47
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