Northport

Follow an old narrow road
hugging orchards and the great
bay, hawks circling oak
and pine, where
Michigan slowly dies
in peninsular time,
a lighthouse, forsaken
of course, and the stubborn
finger of rocks pointing
north and disappearing.
This is where the waters
merge, you can teeter out
on scum-slippery stones and
your feet feel the confluence,
the crossing of waves,
diagonal diamonds forever
forming, one foot in Lake
Michigan, one foot in
Grand Traverse Bay!, you
are master of two realms,
closer to home than you known.