The Creek that Calls the ENE Boundary of Hillsdale

Forty-five years ago we'd panic
at the sight of rain
how it made the tables rise
and who'd have to stay up how late
mop floors.








Today the creek where
it's called the lake warms
four-five birds at least.
We park our rusted
bikes and lie down.

We speak to the lake as we would
to passers-by who say
pardon? and walk on.

Doesn't take much sky just the one hill,
the rest pause of water
let's say.