The Lake-a poem

From the trees, I saw it: a bright body, the sustainer. Under the Woodland’s great shoulders,

I walked towards the place the forest

held closest and grew from,

secreted by green and brown.

Through leaf-stuff, I found the shore— Where earth waned, it was not bright at all but stone-dark; it was only a lake

combed in reflections of Above

From the trees, it looked bright

in all the right places.