An empty rowboat
rests upon the waking lake—
no journey remains.
Mist rises slowly,
lifting from the silent water
like forgotten dreams.
The oars lie untouched,
gathering pearls of dew beneath
the pale dawn sky.
Mountains watch quietly
through veils of silver drifting
across their reflections.
No fisherman comes.
No destination calls.
The boat does not wait.
Golden sunlight spills
across the stillness of the lake,
breaking nothing.
A heron glides low,
its shadow passing softly
through cloud and water.
The mist climbs upward,
returning itself to heaven
without regret.
The empty boat knows
what the restless heart forgets:
Stillness also moves.
For a brief moment
lake, mist, sky, and weathered wood
share a single breath.
Then morning arrives.
The boat remains where it is.
The world drifts around it.
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