by Paulette Demers Turco
...after the painting by Guilda Dimi
One angle of the sun at dawn
reflects across the lake–
gold, vermillion, tangerine
no camera lens can fake.
Few rise to see phenomena
like these to launch their day.
But Dad was lucky. His routine:
he’d set off on his way,
rowing out with fish pole, bait,
in hopes of trout or bass.
The morning breeze caressed his beard;
the surface shone like glass.
This June, Dad’s skiff will wait in vain,
as dust will dull its green,
no more to glide as once he steered
across this gilded scene.