You’re Late Eliza

Perhaps in our fantasies,
You are alive. Afternoon,
Two men in waders fishing,

A yellow Caterpillar
Backhoe chunting the dirt road
Just behind them, motorboat

Transversing the pond, crayfish
Jittering in the shallows.
Got all that? The wake waves lap

At the rocky shore, bobbing
Perplexed crayfish up and down.
Two cyclists in smart outfits

Arrive, having bicycled
Up the mountain. Reaching this
Is their reward. Oh, look! Hawk!

The wake dispersed now, the waves
Are only windblown, small birds
In surface murmurations.

At what point will we begin
To feel you’re really out there,
Following all this with us?

You get your morning coffee,
Sit down, start reading. In our
Fantasies, you are alive.