Blue Mountain Lake

I sense the trees' light filtering the room— knowing nothing about the tulip tree canoe flipped so its stomach slopes up, scuffed by quartz tumbled in the shallow drag. I've walked here in the wetness holding rain, endangered lady slippers dipping petal shoes, dashes of pink in mud—and you're not here. In my dream you write IBIS above BREAD and RUM—block letters, the R tail ripped quick, down, as if something shoved your pencil