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Ode to Lake Erie
I am a beggar at your will.
Fill my bowl with wonder,
bring all the wealth I need.
All the tremble, the want.
Be the saltless singer of rolling songs
brushing against songs.
Be the gentle visitor of tired feet
and boulders terrified of cracks.
Be magnet to insects,
feed the young swallows
of my eves.
Let mallards swim your treasure chest.
Above them, gulls wait
for minnows to take breathless gulps
of light.
At dusk, I wait for your lighthouse, a giant
bullfrog to sound its throaty horn
for fog, for storm,
for the moon's exultant flight,
each visit to darkness
marked with a chestful of stars.
Translate this mating call of slow darkness
surprisingly mortal,
its pelvis pressing down,
rubbing you with the wet music of rain
until you lie dizzy
with love.
Every morning - smooth glass, pebbles,
fossils that once swam
in busy highways of your depths,
not knowing they carried their migrating end.
Your waves scratch sediment to unveil the past,
your shell-nails bleed pearls, bring clay, arrows,
brown bones of a dead horse.
Oh, find the beginning of the sun's unbearable love.
Find the moment when we were divided.
Give it back.
I am a beggar at your feet.
Fill my bowl with wonder.
Also from Olga Klekner:
At the Cottage in Amherstburg
Evening Drive
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