The Drowned Man Speaks

Nobody knew him
and the water said nothing
going its own way
as sun passed over
and evening waited its turn.

This was a lake where nothing
happened.
A small eye surrounded by fir
and blind to most things
swimmers did.

He rose to us after uncertain
days or hours.
A lump that drifted shoreward
in the simple breeze of summer
and came to rest at sand’s edge.

Death by water a voice said
but that had an odd sound as if
something old had lost its
way in some elegance of past
abstraction.

He is us another voice said and
we knew him. Knew his words would
Speak long after like echoes that
rise or fall somewhere in the
winds of mind, or soul.