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                At The Lake
                By Doug Tanoury

                At the lake,
                These last days in June
                Are like living inside of an opal,
                For there is a golden fire
                In the sunlight,
                A strobe-like flash
                Reflected on each wave,
                A cool lushness in the trees
                Growing slowly toward full foliage,
                And there is a certain point
                Way out the channel, where the freighters steam,
                Where a thin band of milky white atmosphere
                Separates the pale blue of sky
                From the deep blue lake,
                Out where the red beacon on the lighthouse
                Seems to regulate the meeting of air and water
                And marks that misty point where earth ends
                And heaven begins.



                © Copyright 2004, Doug Tanoury, All Rights Reserved.




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    Document last modified on: 09/28/2004

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