Seeing no one about, no boat on the lake,
he braked. Locking the car, zipping his coat,
he walked down to the reeds at the water’s edge.
He sat on his hunkers there, wanting his gloves,
scanning the lake’s farther shore, the few houses,
the absolute lack of a jetty, a pier.
He thought of the lakes of Italy, of Switzerland—
how crowded the shores were, how many boats.
A long-legged heron glided in to land.
A dog behind him barked itself hoarse.
He saw the trees growing out of the water.
He picked his spot, seeing the house’s shape,
the powder-blue jetty, the white speedboat.
He wondered how many trout were in there.
He wondered how many he’d have to bribe
to get the planning okay. He didn’t care.
Without looking, he’d found what he wanted
and he would have it, that was sure.
He took his mobile out and photographed the site,
then briskly, smiling, he walked back to his car.