Raymond A. Foss Poems

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the fog rising from the skin of the lake
joining my breath, visible, glinting
in the early fall morning light
melding, joining, dancing
on the wings of the gossamer wind
as if pulled by a string
my canoe drawing me through

my camera, my coffee, steaming still
nestled in the blaze orange life jacket
in the bottom, by my bare feet
a great blue heron
coming into view, around the point
flies skipping upon the water
beads of ripples, touching down
the loon’s dive audible, piercing the water
echoing across the quiet of the morn’
in the stillness of autumn
alone on the lake again


November 20, 2009
Swain’s Lake
Barrington, NH
Fall 2000

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