By CJ Muchhala

Close to shore, water is glass.
Farther out it conjures the shiny scales of a snake’s shed skin.
Sun, now low, marries lake to sky in rose fluorescence.

A narrow opening to the west.
Trees black beneath this brightening tear.
Cloud the color of eggshell drowns.

Long after earth succumbs to night, water holds light.
If I could reach deep enough

I could pull myself back into morning, waken
to strawberries in a rose-tinted bowl.

Published in Wisconsin Poets Calendar, 2011