Satartia - Clear Lake Camp - 1967 Poem by Barry Middleton

A gray wooden skiff is moored
in ink black water, water as dark
as the midnight sky miles from town.
Floating autumn leaves,
and green gold duckweed
move along the surface
like a liquid forest in a quiet breeze.
Moving in stillness, the water inches
its way past a rustic cabin.
Odors of leaves, fish,
and stove smoke breathe life
to the cool clean air.
Game taste, evening,
and a toast to friendship,
bring a sleep like peacefulness
as forest animals find their beds.
Oak, tupelo and cypress pillars
sweep skyward from land and swamp,
and diffuse into a pediment
of green and bronze and indigo.
The setting sun glows red hot steel
across the waters of the slough
and mirrors all. I see myself there still,
sitting solemn and silent, a part of it.