They all rise at once small white birds imperceptible a moment before on the sandbar’s long finger Behind them rock face obscures the sky
I spy a house resting in a far wall of pines white frame with black windows a wide gray roof made of wooden shingles
No, you say gently it’s just more rock behind the trees
I point out the woodshed The dark green shutters
You take a picture spread your fingers across the glass enlarging the gray rock stained with black and white streaks
Oh, okay, I say and struggle to find the house again
The air above the lake whispers with such slow breath all the birds turn and cease pumping their wings like dust moats floating And the water folds over and over Such slow breath