NOTHING LIKE A LAKE

On a walk in a Pennsylvania woods

I came upon a lake 

that at first glance 

looked nothing like a lake.

 

There was no sense 

of water anywhere. Only 

a density of indeterminate depth—

and the glaze of a mess and murk 

stretching in every direction 

in the stillness.

Not until I reached the end of the pier

did I see what I couldn’t see 

before: a thick sheen 

of flowerless lily pads.

This was the mesh 

that made up the horizon.

It struck me as I stood there 

looking down, that it is our job 

when it comes to the ego

to remove all the mess and murk 

from its surface.

Only then can the eye of the self

reflect the eye of the sky and clouds.