summers at the lake we sat and watched
the birds dip over the water and waited

occasionally I allowed myself a thought
what would it be like to walk on water

would I need a special type of footwear
should I take my clothes off without sunblock

nothing ever came of those musings except
the times you put your arm on my shoulder

those were the days when I believed myself
to be loved and all the world hung together

now it is winter and I am alone without you
where you are and on whose shoulder your arm

remains as much a mystery as then when
I wondered how you could love a pup like me

today the lake is bitter cold solid white
I stare straight ahead and imagine a bird

flying across the water in search of food left
next to the ice fisherman’s hut in the center

of the frozen lake where the ice is a foot thick
I realize now how easy it is to walk on water Continue reading “Phillip Periman: At the Lake” →