Poetry
The Legend of Deep Creek Lake
Kit Wienert
I saw a bug that seemed a small leaf
and called it a wonder of nature.
Two black ants fought on a field of tarpaulin
and again Hector lost. I called it
the wonder of mind. A sweat bee
clung to a blade of grass, hovered,
then clung once more.
A metaphor for love can be found here
to be real, though at the moment
she is picking wild raspberries
in a field down the road
overlooking a clear blue reflection
of sky in the lake.
But she will return, and all told
our story will be of this place
wondering for a time what
coming here has meant. To make
a mirror of what we see
and hold the world up to itself.
Our eyes.