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The Boundary Waters of Minnesota early autumn in the northern wilderness breathes deep
ponderosa, spruce, crimson maple, golden aspen
leather-tanned ferns—
departed snags spackled in teal lichen
birchbark etchings are like shapes of all the lakes
snuggling woods build thick bars—
impassible as iron mined from below the Boundary Waters have earned the respect
of a kind and peaceful earth
its wilderness bestowal upon
such trustworthy waters must last far beyond
the life of the parliamentarian's ink and old sepia papers
here—politics drift into oblivion
as my canoe glides onward in smooth elasticity
motions of aquatic flora gently sway in currents beneath
reaching up—caressing the silent slice of a steady keel
water lilies provide a soft, placid shove—
if only in some gentle ambition for perfect isolation—
unflawed stillness dark waters and endless shores lap
against the ancients of Precambrian rocks—
gouged out by primordial peens
and the rasping files of incensed yet patient glaciers—
worn and masticated in steel gizzards of a longer time
calling loons echo across the vast sheen of emptiness—
haunting the deep waters in evening ebbs of light
the sky falls into the gentle gurgle of shores
gawking away at the endless hills
of a forest's blanket of never-ending verve
a contented moonless air provides the stage for an
aurora's slow pirouette—
cast in a dance of dimly whitened veils
they brush over their long ashen space in serene unity the Gunflint Trail tresses its tales of wolves, moose
and tall unaccountable fishing yarns
stitched upon its endless waves and portages
spirits of Ojibwa Indians in birch bark canoes
sway in the eddies of each paddle
old drums echo across lakes—
stretching eastward into the hearts of the Gichigami
boats rock along a dock—
creaking in shrinking planks of wobbled internment
lodges and cabins cast their warmth over outlying
sweeps with their long radiant glow
of contented fireplaces bearing hearts of soot
knotty pine walls cuddle settings of artists' images
draped upon canvases and etched in carvings
each finds a legacy in wooded wildlife and lake fowl
late night chats warm the stillness
and restore anxiety’s defeat of peace and security in the shrouded mists of early morning drizzle
I can gaze out across inky waters from my resting canoe
I sense a tranquil cloak drift and lift off
my troubled statue of an old carved-out curmudgeon
a sojourn of spiritual emancipation lands
I feel redemption in the sacred incantations
of waves glancing upon my boat
in this paradise—I can paddle from shore to shore—
country to country—
and rugged wildness to wildness every shore basks in the very same peace and friendship
a trust of preservation has saved this ambiance
as a mysterious treasure
a solitude of heaven distilling on earth
lonesome protected patches of deep reflecting pools
drown these northern woods in freedom—
global borders feel entirely unnecessary
superfluous—lost in some undefended depth
of a flowing watery peace and space
lakes and rivers clasp no fabricated boundaries of time
even the divides of watersheds do not wholly confine it
it quietly flows beneath man's borders
bound only by hidden geologic structures
of a string, dispassionate, and patient earth the grace of the wilderness' footsteps
has provided an unguarded line—an invisible wall
which should remain passable
as long as the waters stay pure and passable
unaltered in our fleeting politics of blurry nationalism
entirely free to flow—
feeding serenity and harmony
bereft of any fleeting and paltry political comeuppance
in my drifting canoe and wandering mind—I ponder... why can't the world's countless borders
all reflect the same blessed peace and accord
afforded to this one sacred space
why can't man paddle beyond stretches of a now
and envisage an open flow of respect and compassion
nature abhors our rusting wires in fences—
pouring through our sieves of politics—
it laughs in autumn winds of a season’s fall
perhaps we should learn to be more like nature climbing beneath cool heavy blankets
waiting upon my cleansing baptism of sleep
in the soft rains of the Boundary Waters—
I can still feel and discover
and reflect upon a quiet and open border
where the earth and all life can flow about unrestricted
in a timeless pool of families and friends
peaceful, content, and secure in warm homes I sink into waters with one boundless breath of hope…
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