REVERY

Seen from a great distance
the rowboat is a speck
on a lake which appears far more
like an oversized pond.
You are so far off you cannot
see if there is a person in the boat
or it is merely floating about
free of its mooring,
imagining itself a water-lily
basking in the midday sun.
Your reverie is broken by the coo
of the dove flying over the fountain
in the garden, ever so careful
to have the water just caress her breast
before landing on the edge.
Seeing you, she preens,
dips her head in thanks
or simple acknowledgement of your presence
and lifts gracefully into the walnut
to join her impatient mate.