POEM: Adirondack Morning

there is
always
the romance
of the plains
to fall back
on, a fest-
ooned event
with the speed
of tam-
arac trees
to measure
our growing
children by
there is
the promise of
graupel
in after-
noon storms
& growing
a little
grim about
the mouth
in winter
then there is
the throaty
prehistoric
diesel
engine slap-
ping against
the soft green
pine. "sapiens
growling,"
you say to me
nodding
& this sound is
loosened in-
to the air
that circles
over the
lake slic-
ing thin
as a canoe

thrashing
like a
silver-bod-
ied trout.