The Lake Tells Things I Long to Hear

I open myself to the morning,
to the breath of dawn in the hush before

the growing light brushes the sky in prayer & silence.
There a tree leans as if giving thanks.

The lake smells of nostalgia,
years of fear turned peace, so so many firsts;

a love of all things that have aged.
It smells of memories

of a girl I no longer know,
I, a tree rooted in mystery with leaves that shade

a hungry cove, palms turned up
in offering (always offering) to a sun within reach,

a word that translates to something like a promise.
The lake looks like never having learned sadness,

warm weather biting at cold hands,
reaching out out out for this sun

whose rich red-orange shade mocks the color of the gray sky.
And, it reminds me to smile, for my body has become

the sunrise, lingering, letting go, always gifted
with perpetual new beginnings.