The lake outside my window
Has taken on a resemblance to oil on land.
The water’s orange, in places, and brushstrokes of dark blue
Seem to give it depth in the wrong direction.
Only a slight shimmer on the surface of the blue
Gives the scene away as
Not
A picture postcard.
The mix of sunset colours
Created a fog the colour of mustard gas on the shores of the other side,
And in the setting sun, the fall(en) trees
Look the colour of my sister’s hair.
There’s a pink, glowing cloud surrounding the ski slopes
At the bottom of the scorpion-shaped white runs —
And then —
And then it’s gone.
The moment passes and the light fades, leaving only
Slight accents behind the western clouds.
And as the clouds thicken for night,
Pinpricks of light filter out of the blue-grey hills
On the far shores.
The oil spill on the water has now mopped itself up,
And the shimmering waves collect shadow
As the lake quiets for the night.
Candleships 