The lake keeps no schedule,
only light and weather.
I wade in and the shore
loosens its grip behind me.
Water folds around my ribs
like a cool, unfinished thought.
No lanes.
No clock.
Only the soft arithmetic
of breath and stroke.
Below, the world turns green and quiet.
Small fish write silver sentences
I cannot read.
My hands part the surface
and it closes again—
nothing held, nothing broken.
Farther out,
the voices on land become shapes,
then disappear.
I float.
Clouds drift where maps should be.
The lake carries me
without promise,
without hurry.
And for a moment
I belong to nothing at all
except water,
sunlight,
and the long blue feeling
of being small and free.
Thank-you for reading.
Brenda marie
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This is such a quietly powerful poem, Brenda. The way you weave absence—no schedule, no lanes, no clock—into a vivid presence of sensation and freedom is stunning. Lines like “water folds around my ribs / like a cool, unfinished thought” and “small fish write silver sentences / I cannot read” feel both meditative and magical. And that closing—“nothing held, nothing broken”—lands with a beautiful, serene grace. Thank you for sharing this.
Thank you so much for this beautiful reflection. You truly understood the heart of the poem in a way that means more than I can express. I especially love that you connected with the tension between absence and freedom—that quiet space was exactly what I hoped to explore. Your words about the “unfinished thought” and the “silver sentences” touched me deeply. And I’m so grateful the ending stayed with you. Thank you for reading so thoughtfully and for taking the time to share this kindness. 🤍