Perfection
The lake was glass
at 6 am
morning mist
a featherbed
comforting the treetops
Cottages perched along
the shore
windows dark
eyes shuttered in sleep
I stood at the window
disturbed by a dream
and knew that sleep
would come no more
But by the time I
made my way down
to sit at the lakeside
a motorboat had already
broken the perfect calm
Fishermen cast from
their small boat
watching me watch them
Perfection is fleeting
The moment of
silent wonder just before
the world wakes up again
Still the cardinal calls
This is the day
Time to begin again