Breaking Ice, Back Tomorrow
Through the gusting of the Lake we climbed,
slow waterfalls of rock, choosing the long way,
our hearts quivered and trembled to forget
the coldness of never-knowing through childhood
games and idle adventure. Only to circle back on ourselves,
looking for the darkest corners, hidden
in lake drenched stone. We sacrificed our fingers’ freedom for a chance
to fish pieces of memory froze knowable,
slats, from the water’s surface,
Portraits of the puddles’
faceless faces—we clutched the sheets of ice, barely,
did we understand that in smashing them
down to hear sweet mimicry of glass
shattering on rock, we had lost our way.
What hides in puddled shadows
of eroding rocks and fallen trees and freshwater spray?
To hold names is grasping a truth I cannot know after
breaking ice, back tomorrow.