Of The Lake

Organisms in tiny
Tightly-knit
Universes circle past,
Catch on edges of sun, stumble for a single second
As every pair of slippered feet retraces its dusty steps,
And again.
We fall down the plastic slide.
We never leave the water.
Where the sand and the muck ends,
We sit in our auditorium seats
beneath the surface
And when they walk to the summer home
I stay.
A child in the muck.