In the distance, Lake Chapala’s
a silky sheen of white
all the way to Mount García;
but near the shore, her surface
is worried by waves from the south and the west—
El Colimote blows today.
And in this dawn, not seen before,
which will never come again,
waning moon still makes
shining diamonds on the water.
Pelicans sail with regal grace,
and egrets blinding white,
kissing the lake good day.
Having cast his net, a fisherman
stands in his boat
brightening sky and the lake’s patina.
Waves repeat white music
and carry my meditation
aloft to the rising sun.
Their ripples, caressing the rocks,
nearly reach my feet with their refrain.
My vision blurs to wider focus.
I gaze at something almost seen
through the gauzy veil of beauty.
All the wind, and light, and music
sudden seem to cease—
Then I know, when it is time
for me to leave for larger realms,
I’ll thrust myself with birthing joy
and swelling gratitude for earth as well;
for mornings clothed in glory
and beings dressed in bodies;
for fisherman and waning moon,
and pelicans in white.
And for the queenly touch
of southwest wind upon my face.
©Susa Silvermarie 2018