The Lake

Where the river pours itself into the reservoir’s arms

A thousand fields lie flooded

Cypress sentinels stand watch, shrouded in moss

Watching the ospreys dive to fill their talons with fish,

Writhing fins and tail fighting to swim the dry air

Toward the moist pool of a nestling’s throat

Widening its breadth one grain of sand at the time,

The lake claims new land

A tree falls, unseen, unnoticed, unsupported, and undercut

Roots grasping vainly at the void of air,

They find no anchorage

The voices of ghosts cry out from the submerged bottomland,

The voices of centuries and cultures, long forgotten and recalled,

Yet all drowned in the flood of silence

The lapping of soft waves

And outboard motors

Their voices echo through the turbines of the dam

Throwing light upon our town


©2019 Lenny Wells

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