SHARING MY CANOE

William Doreski

Thanks for sharing my canoe.

Yes, I drift around the pond

all day, reading and trusting

what I read, tasting the onset

of colder weather, aching for

the affection of migrating birds.

I’m glad to have you examine

notes I’ve taken on the poems

of Wallace Stevens. So many

secrets to set me blinking and wise,

so much texture to smooth me.

You with your decided flesh

offer coffee custom brewed

to seduce me into a lower case

version of myself. Why bother

with the niceties of literature

when the pond exhumes itself

in stink of leaf decay and fish?

Here comes rain to impress

its wax seal on everything sweet.

Refreshing with fragrance of stone,

revising the last unfallen leaves.

You fold my pages into yourself

and look homeward or shoreward

with the slightest tinge of fear.

We should always be this subtle,

leaving only the faintest ripples

as the canoe I refuse to paddle

sketches a simple hieroglyph

only the pond itself can read.