Written for Victoria C Slotto's challenge on Meeting the bar : Critique and Craft Where in the world am I? at http://dversepoets.com/
You'll meet with anglers hidden on the shore,
perhaps with tent and portaloo
where tree and shrub reach down the banks
to touch their shoulders, point
to where the water pops and blisters,
speaks the lake's fecundity.
On dull days sky may rupture azure blue
the whole lake length and back again.
You'll sense not see the beauty there
and think he crashed the canopy.
The sudden noise of wing
is like a splintering. The kingfisher
is king. Where lilies in their season lift
their special colours, safe upon their pads,
you'll think small suns afloat on darkling seas
or tissue beauty blown in on the breeze.
There's life, you'll see, will flicker through
above, below, around them as you look.
The sandy path goes not quite round the lake.
At the far end there's marsh. Path peters out
where water tempts you in to wade
the final yards, but better not.
Here species, frog and dragonfly
are noted for their rarity.
Trees like a curtain close it all, but let
peep in, the catacomb-like passages
where trip-wire brambles, broken cello strings
and dampness reign. Here pungent odours rise
from sun-bright fungi. Scarlets, shocking pinks
and blues splodge olive greens and sin dark black.
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