It’s the call over still water
echoing round the bay of my mind
some yearning, undefined
A loon owns this lake
at dusk and at dawn reminding us
of things unresolved.
We row out to find him
smooth grey feathers impervious to rain.
King of the underworld he dives
for how long will he haunt us
He resurfaces, the water rolls off him
like a world one forgets
but we cannot.
He swims head high
but what does he keep fettered
under those black and white prison-bar wings?