Early Morning Kayak

I am a bird.
I am a boat.
I am a shadow on the water.
I am a slight fragrance where the lake
Narrows to a bounded stream between marshy banks.

I am a silver flag above yellow paddles
And a submerged shape reminiscent of a once-tree,
Once-crab, once-broken cliff.
I am a cliff dweller, a Columbus
Of sorts.

I am the calm and the becalmed,
The stiff breeze that heartens the spirit,
And the quiet mind that comes
To float.

I am the ripple and the flow, but
Not quite the tide,
Not so pulled by the moon
As by the stars.

I am the living tree lingering in air,
And the strong skeleton looking outward
And supporting those who also stand
And look outward.

I am here on this surface but
Also deep into whatever
It is.

I see the blue chairs and the
Long pier, but these
Are not home.

As the invisible insects touch
Water and inspire rippling circles,
I touch, make my point,
And lift off.

I am the stripped umbrella
Open with no one near.
I am the reflection
Of clouds.

I am the fine grains of sand
Earned over eons
On the beach that appears
Only twice a day
Briefly.

I am not the eye pitched open
To see the soar
Or even just to be me.

I am not that.
I am the bird.