The Cormorants

Vincent Hostak

June 8, 2025

late summer, Inks Lake       

All at once they drop from the black frocked tree 

leaving it nude and sweltering  

From the shore I thought they might be leaves

But I’ve been deceived by lake light before

The cormorants know all the ages of this lake 

from its cold murky bottom to boiling surface skin

Still flying they pierce through sparks 

towards thicker water, a sunken roadbed

where the stout fish dwell in secret channels

Days which speak the language of peace are rare 

I thought I might find one here

But the lake turns so slowly and like the cormorants

I can’t wait for the best parts to rise

My mind yearns to cling to their slick black feathers

 and fall with them through every season of the lake

Vincent Hostak is a writer and media producer from Texas now living near the Front Range of Colorado south of Denver. His recently published poems are found in the journals Sonder Midwest and the Langdon Review of the Arts in Texas, and as a contributor to the TPA. He writes and produces the podcast: Crossings: the Refugee Experience in America.