I’m not sure what perfect balance was unbalanced
when they built that sturdy little boathouse
on the dunes.
But the Great Lake didn’t like it
so with her waves began to lick it,
a lion licking blood from gunshot wounds.
Now when I’m walking on that beach
for as far as I can reach,
I see the water’s come
and hidden what it’s done.
And when I wade into the water,
I can feel what’s left of slaughter.
Just cinder blocks, and a concrete ramp
buried deep beneath the sand.