Away from the heat
Or the wind, or the rain,
The air is thick inside the boathouse.
Crisp lines and edges blur.
The water seems firm.
Occasionally the boathouse creaks and moans,
Crooning its age old water tune
Of slipping highs and lows.
Beneath the floating docks
The light shining brightly outside
Reflects here indirectly with an underwater glow.
Sometimes it lights the path
For fish to swim
Along the unseen passages there
With a green transparent hue.
The muted glimmer
Holds so much promise
Of emotions to surface
Or tales to tell
When this peace is left behind
For the sharp-edged world outside.