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The Lake

By John I. Blair

When I smile
At the tranquil face
Of the opaque lake
It smiles back; but
All I see is surface,
Pretty with ripples,
Occasionally pierced
By fish or insect,
Turtle or snake.

After I break beneath
Into the cool deep,
Other realities appear:
Hungry mouths feed,
Beings live and die,
Currents ebb and flow,
And far below
The welcoming mud
Receives all that falls.

2002 John I. Blair  

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