By now you have envisaged
in lives as many as those
of a tree in spring
the summer nights
in the cabin by the lake
with the sun never setting
the fire on the beach
through the endless hours of sunset
and have held the sound of the north dome
of the planet turning
gazing constantly at the sun
the lull of the lakes at that
time the hum of the surfaces
the breath of woods
bird voices clattering
through the sleepless light
of the sun at midnight
and your long shadow walking
on the still water
that is what you go on seeing
at that latitude
as the water turns silent and then
begins to tremble