you think at first I am
simply a black dot woven
into the mirror mirage
of waveless water – a rock,
the head of a beaver,
a discarded can of beer
but come closer: I will not
flee, afraid, to the safety
of a distant sky, no
I will turn to you, show
the speckled black
and white of my wings,
my back a perfect
Audubon sketch
reflecting the sun’s glint
on the skin of the lake
around my neck a lace
Elizabethan collar, etching
of a stand of birch, silver
white on the black
of my head, my eye
a ruby stud, the regal
curve of my beak
you are in my world
now, not I in yours,
my bob and drift,
ripple and wake
you cannot know
where I will reappear
when I slide into
the water’s womb
like a thought slipping
into mind, I re-emerge
in a lilypad tangle,
the gulp and belch songs
of hidden bullfrogs
then again fade
into algaic murk, flash
beneath you, a torpedo,
drive a school of chum
to riffle the glassy
surface, break the silence
thirty yards away –
laughing
after all, you named
your insanity to honor
my haunting call,
harbinger of dusk
and fog, your lunate
fantasy of who I am
but come closer: swim
with me, dive with me,
and I will restore your
sacred visions, amniotic
memories, the wildness
of your dreams