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