Travelling Questions&Answers in Wilds/WaterWays
Day Three: Cultus Lake, British Columbia
The jay vanishes letting me know I am watched.
Gold plunges the lake by ancient cedar’s dangling tips.
I linger on the rock washed edge.
Footstepping warm water.
Three tiny steamlets empty shock cold,
below the surface.
Still wind over the lake.
Eye: (soundlessly) Do you see me?
The musican’s hand touches the edge of a volcano.
Rumbles, shakes and eruptions belch green yellow.
Funnels and lightning everywhere.
Volcano lady pointed up to three volcanoes in a line.
He ran and ran and ran into the storm along the shore.
Three unseen though visible light paintings remain.
Eye: (sighing) Do you remember me?
The actor feels his pulse
detecting no movement.
Undresses under the ancient cedar.
The temptation is to seek advice
from the dangling branches.
Lake listen to the coffin or canoe.
Leave a bundle in the damp, crowded air.
Wade in marking place.
Something stirs in the calm.
Just for a moment gliding under the skin.
Lurking. Algae grab and pull.
Suddenly the body washes ashore
like a massive log we name driftwood.
Flee over small, sharp, broken, black gravel.
Run. Shiver. Dress. Morning passes. Leaf falls.
Eagle Eye: (blinks) . . .
Wren or was it the Robin who smiled at the story
of the falling and rising mists over Cultis Lake.
The eye blinked.
“Yes, the eagle blinks spaces which enter other worlds.”
When I first came, that night a year ago, the blue heron
stood majestic, inscrutable and respectful.
Then lifted into graceful flight over the furious water.
Your brooding is known.