Lagoon at Spuyten Duyvil Creek
Eleanor Paynter

The ducks were walking on sludge:
they appeared to be waddling on water.

From a distance, I wanted webbed feet.
This was an automatic desire: open-close.

The ducks dove their beaks below the surface, pecking for invertebrates.
I wasn't hungry.

On the surface of the lagoon, there in the muck,
a path emerged: water on water --

a separating, gradual, a brushstroke, a slim curve,
opening.

It's possible that by dusk they were all swimming.
Did I mention they were silent?

I keep moving and can't take the lighthouse with me.

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