sitting at this window
yellowed-kitchened sun chilling
back hill, casting a dullness
on the lake,
the sky streaks mottled
blue-pink clouds
diagonally over
sharp-edged against the wild sky
and a highway disappears
pushing cars like abacus beads
in motion and faster motion
between this clump of trees
and the patchy deciduous
gangrene of rising
the lake has a small island
with four struggling trees
all this
I survey
borrowing someone else's tranquility
