by jim holt
Now that things are quiet
and the thunders gone,
looking down the hill
the lake is calm.
Trees still weeping of the rain
and children scrambling
and falling
off and on plastic rafts
off and on
and off
like different shades of blue
of water
and mist
and sky
and father sky
and darker mist
and deeper water
into which the children are
still falling.
——-
originally published in 1973 in a collection of my poems called THE SEASONAL LIGHTNING ROD
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