Far Away

Gold fins  in the lake,
watching  water boatmen
rowing to the lily pad, heavy air ,
sweating beneath a midday sun;
willows drooping to the bank
drinking deep, fail to raise their branches.
Sentinel poplars, limp and tired
no breeze to stir the leaves,
as Jack dreams mountain streams.

Nothing moves, urgent work unheeded.
I kiss the placid lake, drink the welcome nectar,
joining  a dreaming dog and his mountain streams,
far away and long ago, more distant as hours pass,
beauty more than gold fins, naked to the early moon
as  silver light cools  my sweating brow.