Neroli I am coming across a wet slaw of grass moving toward a new perfect lake. The skiff crosses without ripples I have stepped off the shore of possibility of cool moisture, aware of the idea of the boat's position in the water and that liquid displaced and tightly wrapped around. I am aware of the boat's movement, rolling down the slope of water, dragging the bottom up and over thinking the sounds of wood moving over gravel pebbles pressing into sand pressing up and into the wood of the boat. Look up and feel the moisture against your face.