Superior, by which I mean the lake was not
As much as we imagined
It, a synonym, or else the surface
Cold because the light
Was catastrophic
In the distance, no, the water made of its
Appearances, the presence of
A promise formed
The shore, the waves repeating
And repeatable. I had thought
That I was thinking
Up, was therefore under it, the sky
Was strange within
The world at once upon
But not itself
Belonging. We looked away,
Were other than
And then the day was not of what between us
Edged, growing
Into sand the dark dissolved
To something less
Than brilliance, the wind within
Itself a distance
Yet again, a distance. I had to ask it
