Sunk Worth - Andrew Havens

I stopped believing
in the treasure
years ago.
I know it is there
at the bottom of the lake
(the little lake, small enough that you could recognize
a childhood friend from all the way across when they
arrived, no warning, on a chill October morning to
find you and play Risk around a fire after hotdogs and
beer).
I know it is there
because I’d lost it.
Standing in the canoe,
drunk on cheap, new wine,
shaming my ancestors
as I sang to the moon.
The sack slipped over the gunwale.
A silent escape as I caught a glimpse
between bright green fiberglass
and deep, wet, black regret.
I swim every day for an hour.
The lake is not deep.
I sift the silt and sand and grit.
So many summers.
I know the treasure is there.
I know because it’s mine.
I know because I lost it.
But I do not believe in it anymore.
I don’t drink.
I don’t sing or dance beneath the moon.
But I swim
and sift
and belief
is not required.I 

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