A boat swings like a weather vane
on the flat blue glass. It turns
like a ballerina
dressed in white canvas and
wooden soled shoes.
She tip-toes and etches hull lines
in the glass like smoke
in her wake.
A man sits on an August heated dock,
watches the lake expand from dark blue to white,
from summer to winter
from East to West.
That boat swings like a needle,
’round the compass of his green-gray eyes.