There is a lake where the turtles dance
They twirl on their shells like spinning tops and cry
To the sun a song of thanks. The fish
Wave like pride flags in the wake of bouncing ducks who weave and bob an arabesque. The blue cool yawns
To the sparkling sun in harmony
With the turtles’ cries. The shore is scattered with baking pebbles
That little brown birds with ebony speckles collect in their sun-bleached beaks
And gently place, tracing a path to the silty edge.
From sandy nooks, ants emerge and tap out the base track to the bullfrogs serenade. The lillypads
Glisten like buried treasure from atop the swaying droplets.
Here, laughter punctuates the chorus
turning the breeze into pirouetting flutes. Those high pitch
tinklings that draw the bees from there work to lazily hum
as they float. The screech of the eagle crescendos,
a brovato among the dulcet tones.
There is a lake at the edge of the world,
and time stretches like a white-haired cat. It rubs its blinking eyes and watches as the lakes symphony ebbs and flows.
In this very moment life
ends and begins again and again,
time watching on as the turtles spin
and the ducks leap And the fish sway
and the bees hum
and the laughter bounces endlessly.