In the middle
of the week, a new
day in a new year without

a prompt

to steer my way through
strangely calm waters.
It’s so clear, I can see the bottom

where the crayfish crawl.
No ice or wake to block the view.
Outsized snowflakes float

in the air in no hurry to fall
to the lake’s surface,
or my outstretched hands.

Painted the color of the water,

this wooden boat
knows so much more
than it’s willing to tell.

I’m learning to work with it.
Unlicensed and unleashed
upon the morning.