Saturn

There's a tiny, overgrown island
at one end of the lake. I've never
stepped onto it, but when the water
isn't too low to take the boat around
I imagine the narrow path that might
run from that shallow inlet, up
to the top where I might have built
a small wooden deck with a single
table and a telescope standing
strange as an ostrich in the middle.

You can look at the pale ghost of a planet
through the lens and imagine your own
spirit unsheathed and seeking shelter
on the terrain not even hinted at
byt he smokey jewel in the telescope--
it's enough to look a the gray gleam
with its just-visible rings and dream.

Often it's enought to look at the bony
frame of the telescope with it's barrel
aimed wildly high to dream your dreams.

Sometimes to paddle a circle
around the wild viney island--
and sometime to imagine the island,
the thin boundry of rippling water
between me and the first of its weeds,
and the way it seems to turn as I circle--
sometimes the lumber lays itself
and the telescope turns on its own
agianst the obscene circling of the earth.