On the Will of the Lake
I sit on the dock
and watch as the sky erupts
into ribbons of orange and gold.
the lake beneath me pushes and pulls
as if according to its own will
and now, I have convinced myself
that if we, the maniac humans,
are made in the image of God,
so is everything else.
I mean for the moment, of course,
the lake upon which I suspend myself
as if only to witness
the way it is vast and powerful
in ways that we are not vast and powerful.
the lake whose ebb and flow
moves as if to open its wings and show me
all of the life contained between its banks,
as if to hand me the end of the day,
as if to say, “here,
take this light
into the world with you
give it away.”
By Angie Gross
Angie Gross is a poet, pianist, yogi, bookworm, psychology student and friend to all from northern California.