june bugs buzz where the tracks cross the trail;
around the last bend a festival of fisherchildren fly.
complete with port-o-potties, popcorn stands, and trophies to scale.
this city lives up to its name.
yet the water holds its ground,
despite jabbing young hooks on parallel banks.
smoothness unbothered in its saturday swell.
in a week of deep diving solitude,
you channel this illusion of stillness.
there is much beneath the surface,
yet peace lands with the water-bugs, gently on the glassy green.