Standing on my grandmother’s dock
I see houses mirrored in the river,
houses made magical, bolded
by water’s doubling, rippling rooflines,
splintered glass, one house
then another. Near sunset goldens
& shadows mix & deepen
their unlikeliness. Farther is the arched
stone bridge, a perfect circle I canoe
through, each mossed & mortared stone
surprise, shadow swapping sides
from ten to two, bullfrogs capped
& caped with algae thick & green
in shallow coves, snappers circling below.
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