Waves on a lake, what were we into.

The little motor paddled us past the harbor

then the bigger motor pulled us out

             of sight of land

The rivers that feed her

kept catching fire: Detroit,

Cayuga. Way back

when. It’s safer now. Stripped to jeans

He launched off

             the bobbing aft and punched

the water, surfacing too

far out, too long after.

Ponds and pools with ground to find,

I crouch in the hull, touching my feet.

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