No Man's Lake

Saint Paul, 6 November 2005

No backhoe bucket lays bare

An amber-bottled cure for aging

The backcountry beguiles you

Treeless above the timberline

You peek over rocky margins

Feetfirst to an alpine pool

Called No Man’s Lake

You reckon each contour line

On maps you’ll never re-fold

Seeing water so deep and so clear

Mountain-starved fingerlings

Gesture toward your waves

Deigning to nibble at your corn