She is the lovely lake
and I the dingy boat
am cork-strewn upon her surface,
moving in her eddies unnoticed
rocked by every movement
she makes,
sinking so easily beneath her waves.
 
I dip my oars and row away
but lakes are large, sometimes turbulent
sometimes glassy;
always edgy for the dingy man
who must keep abreast of the weather
least it should change;
a brilliant smile could illuminate and blind
me, the oarsman
who will, in all events, row and row endlessly.
One oar floats away-I row in circles until
I become stranded leeward on her sandbar
whilst all around she flows and flows.

I dive in
and swim with her;
seeking to mix souls
even as I will likely drown.