The lake lay low. And lower. The heads
Of rocks reemerging at the surface,
From a distance, looked like ducks.
The shoreline had become a good part
Of the bay. The giant driftwood logs of May
Were grounded darlings until winter storms.
The swimmer scrutinized the motion dazzle
Of the sunset on the close-to-calm, a breeze
That riffled the still just enough to scatter
The golden light like diamonds, like diamonds
Made of gold, but briefer, better, truer pledges
Of love for a world that only knew love
As changes, as pledges of more to come.
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