Log Cabin Chronicles



Sunlight slides across the boat's bow.
I lean on a pile of fishnets
to see the cormorant dive,
a full black arrow
slashing, rippling the waters,
disappearing as I blink.

The sun descends through towering trees,
as herons on the vines stare with me
at the mirrored avenue
cleaved by the boat,
and I wait for the river
to liberate the bird.

Ebony waves make me hum a barcarole
song that dissipates
as the bird emerges from distant waters,
a small cannon's shot
aiming for the forest,
the last visible wonder of the day.

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Copyright © 1996 Rosa Clement/Log Cabin Chronicles/07.96