Early Morning

So many selves rowing their own skiffs

in the grace of the water of the lake

apart from me. I watched motion press its life 

into the lake. Stood without oar in hand 

and learned what happened without wondering 

what might happen next. How quiet can be 

imagined as belonging to someone else, 

just listening as the pulse of water 

changes the edges and the middle 

of the lake? I do not swim, I coast 

or simply watch the broken branches 

in the chill lake. Hawks, ducklings, doves. How 

do they together change me as I hear 

and watch their music become my thought?