We spied the island yesterday from the shore,
and, being human, longed to conquer it.
The wind whips at unfastened buckles
And the dark lake reflects a woozy sky.
The petite canoes sit low atop wobbling water.
She’s still asleep, tossing us in a slushing slumber,
Unaware of our intrusion across her rippled face.
The island, shy as a cat, is sighted anew, and our pace doubles.
Bared, eroded stone teeth greet us as the earth shudders
But we find refuge in the sandy gum line.
Between the incisors, our canoes are drawn.
Undaunted, undeterred, unrelenting, we make landfall.

A distilled, thousand-year silence enters our lungs.
The needle rug consumes every sound we make,
So hungry is the island for company.
A birch, meek amid the mightier pines, draws us in.
With low branches and smooth bark, it beckons further.
A secret registry is written.
Embracing our human need to make lasting change,
A long black knife is drawn, but by who, we don’t know.
Tree’s skin splits and tears as four names join the ledger.
We know this place, and it knows us too.

It only takes one push to leave.
With a swelling temper, the lake awakens.
Enraged by our arrogance, the waves rise higher.
Or maybe it wasn’t ready to be alone once more.
The sky thickens and the water reflects a gnawing pain.
Our paddling quickens and shore shrinks behind us
As the sky moans low, then starts crying over the island.

Editor: Shannon Hensley