At The Dock
Anne Fraser

I watch the way cold water flows
into the movement of minnows,
sleek in green water
for a time,
then fish,
slack mouthed,
soft pouches that open
and close near the surface -
your kisses
and the time alone.

I find myself in this,
once a child-woman -
with years,
the woman feels the child
beneath the surface,
gaiety and promise
submerged too long.

Wrinkled and pale
a smile rises,
an old reflection
moving on.

© 2003 Anne Fraser