Friday, February 19, 2021

A small church

A crow roosting on the dock flaps 

both wings as my bike rolls 

     by the water's edge  


I take this as a blessing. 


From high on this coiled trail,  

I see a man step into the lake 

     and part the water

      as if he held a sword of light 

 

not a fishing pole. 


In the thickets, bats cry their syllables 

and phrases and so with awe 

      I stop my wheels 

     

to better hear the choir sing. 


And as the sun ebbs, 

the whole lake glitters 

      as if a million tiny candles flicker,

     as if saints and angels swim 


among the fish.


Again I stop and strain my neck 

toward this small church 

       below,

      the one named Lake Chabot.