I remember letting my fingers trail through the cool
Surface of the water,
While the canoe
Skimmed and skimmed
Across the inky stillness of the lake.

Quiet and the sun not yet fully risen

Patterns on the water drawn with my fingertips
And then quickly receding
Back to glass

The world above all dawning blue
And the loons
Begin to call

The stars fall back last,
Giving up one by one to the gentle brightening
Of the Adirondack sun.

Still now, I walk with my fingers gliding through the lake,
Grazing the hidden veil.

There is something deeper here.

I reach one hand for the depths and the other holds the shore,
And I am somewhere aching along the surface
In-between them both.