nameless lake

It's crazy how good a big
pile of water looks
in a mountain bowl.
With the sky in it, and
the mountains - top down,
folded, partway doubled,
confusing the eye and mind.
But nearer in, you can see
how the fossilized waterlines
ring their way down grassy slopes
in a gradation. Past times of flush
and drought, marked down
and into and under the surface
in fading contours, greys and greens
- 'til the blue sky
washes them out.

You just stand there

looking at it. Stupid. You couldn't
describe it if you tried, or why
you keep looking. It just
reaches something deep
in all of us, maybe.

Our ancestors stood here once,
and said man, I'll remember this
longer than I'm alive. Perhaps

that's it. Haunted as we are
by long-dead eyes,

sights like these stir up ghosts
in our souls, or DNA, or
some damn thing.

It's such a surprise
that it's always been.