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| Joan Howard |
The Kayak Ride
I close my eyes and feel soft warmth and light
in waves and twisting ribbons on my skin,
quick golden circles’ ever-upward flight.
Yet still, my dreams and memories of you
are shards, ice barriers, so when I ride
lake’s mirrored glass, reflected clouds describe
my loss in watered depths of heaven’s blue.
An emptiness as vast as sky’s clear height
of clouds’ reversal in the water’s deep
their shapes extending down the infinite,
slow whites that drift a fathomless abyss.
And you―this―are embraced by warbler’s call,
my loss in watered depths of heaven’s blue.
An emptiness as vast as sky’s clear height
of clouds’ reversal in the water’s deep
their shapes extending down the infinite,
slow whites that drift a fathomless abyss.
And you―this―are embraced by warbler’s call,
shore’s forest reach, the waiting, radiant all.
Joan
Howard earned a B.A. In German Literature at Indiana University, an M.A. from
the University of Oregon and studied in Munich, Germany, and the University of
Georgia. She is a former teacher and
lives in Athens, Georgia, and on the beautiful waters of Lake Chatuge in Hiawassee.
She enjoys birding, walking and kayaking. She has written another book about her sister
entitled Death and Empathy: My Sister
Sue. She is a member of North
Carolina Writers Network, North Carolina Writers Network West, and the Georgia
Poetry Society.
