The Lake

I’m currently trying, in my spare time, to keep a document with all of my previous poems in it (they’re currently stored across a variety of laptops, some on a phone, some only on here).

Some of them I’m updating and amending, as I did last week with ‘The Stairs’. Others, like this one, I have made some minor changes to, but it was how it was displaying on here that was agitating me, somewhat and so the changes made here are mainly in the layout.

He stands on the bank, looking into the lake,
staring at a vision of himself amongst the ripples.

His image, moving and distorted.
The water provides
a reflection more truthful
than a mirror could conjure.

A stomach in knots, expertly shown to him,
by a solitary brown trout,
swimming in and out of his abdomen
in its liquid, shimmering form.

He gives a slight grin,
thinking the lake works better in many ways
than an X-ray ever could.

A light breeze picks up, but it’s otherwise quiet here.
The only sound, the rustling
of some leaves on the grass behind him,
lifted by the wind, in low-flying, gentle circles.

The fish moves on, and he awaits what he is here for.

Time passes, though not too much.
Perhaps only a minute or two.
On some days it seems to take an eternity,
yet on others, mere seconds.

Slowly and without fanfare,
the tightness in his body eases,
the knots carefully coming undone.

The lake has always done this for him,
a magic blue/green escape.
It leaves him feeling fresh and anew.

He knows it’s only a temporary balm,
that’s why he’ll return tomorrow.

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