A Ride by the Lake

I guess it made sense
to ride by the lake
where we'd apparently
fallen in love,
and see it under renovation;
It had seemed so remote,
so real.

You'd eaten a clover
and winced with its sour
after failing to blow free
the parachutes of a dandelion.

Now the entire lawn
was rolled into bales,
exposing its underside,
clearly a carpet.

The trees lay prone,
their roots exposed
as muddy mops of perished wire.

Also baskets of little things:
the insects, the dandelions
and yes,
the clovers (It must have tasted bland and rubbery those years ago.).

I'd dived naked into the water;
I'd heard you liked spontaneity
and had tried to coax you in;
I couldn't.
(You’d laughed though and fiddled with little things that grew and flew.)

I'd free-stroked
and held my breath
for what for you I hoped seemed like
a reckless length of time.

Now the lake lay dry;
cleaners swept sediment
from the fibreglass bed
and attentively
scrubbed the seams;
I doubt there'd ever been fish.

I guess it made sense
to ride by the lake
where we'd apparently
fallen in love,
and see it under renovation;
It had seemed so remote,
so real.