The trees are now turning, I smell the leaves burning
afternoon darkens and slips into night
the pond water cools, east outlet drools
in a thin mucous ribbon that slips out of sight

They tell me the county line runs right through here
there it cuts through the water
you keep watching the shoreline for deer

Above in the vapor now speckled with insects
a flycatcher swings like a fish in a brook
The bats come nervously bobbing and shaking
and the kingfisher's tearing the supper he took

They tell me the county line runs right through here
there it cuts through he water
you keep watching the shoreline for deer

And under the water the last lights are leaving
the ceiling is stretching like skin over bone
the perch begin sucking the surface for spiders
and rowboats of sailors are pulling for home

On the west end of Wassokeag Lake
we are plying the water
we are waiting for the silence to break

Then up from the marshlands the loons come a piping
with wild jackal laughter to heckle the frogs
some say they are conjuring Indians demons
but really they're singing the praises of God