When I look at this stirred lake—

glitter, a sea of applause, soldiers

marching by command—

I look in the distance to the other side,

I see no motion, no distress, no stirring.

The clouds in their typical early morning routine. The trees their perfect skyline.

And yet,

the water has somewhere to be.

Every drop knows something…

The clouds don’t mind, the trees

still stretch.

I can see the salute:

the strength in a lake’s limitations.