Oars (after Wayne Hogan)

Boats make me blush with the desire 

To venture away toward near silence 

By way of spoon-like oars their grip and pull

Drawing the body into a space across

Smooth water still with unasked questions 

Along the morning lake little thinking 

At this hour only the musical rest 

Between strokes of dipping in to water

And drawing back while seated in reverse

Always on the way to some imagined state

Far from conversation from disturbance 

Even eloquent rain parsing who I am 

Or might become in motion cleansing 

What will be new daylight when it comes