Port Arthur

These streets are
unmanageable unchallengeable,
a tangled mess of
knots stops lop
-sided composure.
I usually get lost amid
slick hills covered in ice
or blazed upon by the Sun,
winding winding
incomprehensibly. I always forget
from which way I came.

Eyes on the lake
from all directions, and
appropriately so, as it is aggressive,
sharp with
flakes of glitter unloaded
from the Sun.
It passes on its essence.
It is a passion of mine to
sit and
watch the water unfurl
onto and into itself forever,
                             .
                     again
       and
              over
over