Bright jade jack pines
strike against sky,
surround the lake in full,
a catch to keep
the magic in.
Whiskey Jacks perch, invisible.
Their whistles and chirrups
bounce between branches,
stir the air as a paddle
stirs water, ripples peeling
from the blade with every dip. 

Paddle until dark,
circle until your arms burn
and shoulders ache,
until the lake trout stop
their trick flips
and the sky opens.
Night turns it transparent,
fades the sky in slow gradient,
bright blue soaking into black
like wet spill into rag.
It lets the light through,
magnetic pinpoints of flood
that sew lake and sky close,
the gap between pressed thin,
every prick and sparkle
reflected, carried on the ripples
of your blood stream, spinning
with the cells, a golden match, stars so thick they could be water.      

– Riley Vainionpaa