Poem of the Week #91

Lake Movement

The wind
makes ripples come
across dark water,
stirring lily pads to bob and dance
in yellow scum.

The wind
kicks up more
to sway the sturdy pier
and rustle stalky reeds
along the shore.

Good fishermen all know:
throw back the one too small to keep.
Is it relieved to have another go?

Then near my ear, I hear a buzzing fly
as if to say stay still, you die.

Lisa Vihos