At the End of the Portage

In my mind, I am getting ready
scanning the shoreline,
this silence like a body of water
that ripples out beyond my vision.

In my mind, I am getting ready,
drawing the prow of my canoe across the sand,
setting the bow into the water,
curling cool against the shore, my welcoming feet.

In my mind, I am getting ready,
loading up provisions—
honey for sweetness, limes for tartness,
skins for warmth and softness, grains for sustenance and longevity.
Enough for ballast, but not sinking.

In my mind, I am getting ready
to cast off from sand and pine
across the great, unknowable lake,
to ride the whirligig of my breath
stroking inward through the vortex of my stroke
up and down these waves.