Noon in a CanoeIn the quiet wake of a life gone by, a fish turns and vanishes. The backwash fuzzes white, resolves. Who goes there, in the glint and glitter, the lift and turn and setting down of what will no longer do? Vision, retreat, fastenings, dismissals. Thirst is the home of a self abandoned. Now I know how each day rides the one before, noon in a canoe, rings of knowledge that preserve an underground peace.