Through the gusting of the Lake
we climbed slow waterfalls of rock,
choosing the long way,
our hearts quivering and trembling to forget
the coldness of never-knowing
through childhood games and idle adventure,
only to circle back on ourselves
in search of the darkest corners, hidden
in lake-drenched stone.
Fishing for portraits of the puddles’
faceless faces, we clutched at sheets of ice,
barely able to peer through the blurred panes
we squinted through bubbles of trapped air
and started at our young faces,
warped and bent through the frozen water.
In shock we forget what we saw
and dropped the slats of ice
to rock, to shatter like glass.
After it we left, the ringing of the frozen
sheets breaking echoed in our ears and in bed,
we lay restless, as the ice left behind
silently melted and froze anew.
Asking us about what hides in puddled shadows
of eroding rock and fallen trees and freshwater spray.
To grasp a truth is holding memories
I cannot know after
breaking ice, back tomorrow.