Two Little Boats

at the turn of the lake,
under the cliff,
adrift,
two little boats,
their sails gone,
the oars thrown away,
the paint faded,
the hull jaded,
moving around
in concentric circles,
gently lapping,
on the ripples,
always moving,
never still,
never touching,
a whirligig,
a slow carousel,
forever they take
sun and rain
mist and dew
the little boats on the lake
the little boats in the maze.