The Lake
written by: Grant Watson
@Grant_WatsonUK
It appears so much larger at night,
An opened mouth at the tip
Of my child’s feet as he
Skims flattened stones before bed
And shouts out our names across
The thick, dark peaks
Of its incoming tide.
I lead him to where we’ve camped –
You at a gas stove cooking fish
Line caught
At the curling wooded slats. And
Somewhere from its soft and
Muddy banks,
I’m sure I hear the lake call back.