At Sunrise Over Cedar Lake
by Colleen McManus Hein

Buck thinks the waves
Are alive. He chomps
As they roll beneath
His flop-skin gray muzzle.

Find the stick from last night
One end ground
To the branch’s beige bone
From a white-tooth grip.

A toss, and his need to retrieve
Is so urgent and fierce
I can’t breathe until paddling
Paws reach the damp beach.

I watch with my mate
As black-white striped loons
Beak dive for breakfast
At sunrise over Cedar Lake.



 

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