Contributor: Suez


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A long wait – 50 years – to learn
How deeply and completely
The wild magic of the Boundary Waters
Could burrow.
A self-identified mountain girl
Lost to the still, flat, black water
Contained by granite outcroppings
Layered in midnight green pines
Topped with iridescent spring birches.
In a place of pure stillness.
In a quiet a city dweller doesn’t know
And a peak bagger can’t experience.
I savor the indelible memory of
The night’s all-consuming darkness
Its lavish gift of stars,
The raucous cacophony of loons.
The fog and the suns
One in the sky
One in the glassy water.
Envelop me in the silence of
Wild gratitude.


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A recipient of a letter addressed "Dear Poet" I revel in becoming something other than an academic economist.