Walking in Fog beside a Lake

First, the flat thunk of a bucket,

and then a man’s voice, only a few

unintelligible syllables flapping in

over the water, not able to reach us until

the last moment, then veering away.

Though we were talking a moment ago,

my wife and I fall silent, nor does the man

in the boat say anything more to whoever

is with him. For a time we are held there

together, listening into the fog,

and then a wave, unable to hold its breath

any longer, rolls out of the silence

and splashes its voice on the rocks

at our feet, and the morning starts up

like an outboard and slowly moves on.