LOST LAGOON

Roving the funereal alcove,
Animals betray their geometrical sentries
To shock and blot diminished light.
The lagoon’s an amber glass sheet
Stretching into corridors of bulrushes.
A swan glides like a motorized toy,
White wings tight as boarded oars.
The tight buds of April
Dot the canopy of arbutus,
Pink on green in a shock
Of windy morse code on the forest edge.