Alas

This morning 
He watches the still
Grey plate of the lake

A sharp chevron 
Arrowed forth
Dark headed by a coot,
A silent cut 
Headed for the reeds.

He waited for the sword
And the arm 
Clad in white samite
And at his side
A lady fair to behold.

A delicious moment of remembrance,
The tearful whisper of a prayer
Before he gathered his cloak 
In a swirl around him
And retreated from the cold.

JL July 10. 13:21