Reaching a little more sky. Dew drips from beached canoes. I look at the lake face to face. That fisherman's paddling out of a Chinese painting. Swallows stitch lake and sky.
Fish rip the surface and fall.
I dip my mind in the water. Sounding the sky bubbling poetry through it. Pine boughs shadow my poems. A spider climbs down from my cap to read my poems. My poems blow all over with leaves of Tu Fu and Whitman.