through carefully to avoid
the spread of cracks. I built
a willow cabin, piled on skins,
crawled inside and looked up;
stared into the dark until
my eyes opened their blackness.
Light from the water floated up,
folding me inside its cold bubble.
Light gave water its spirit and
water gave light flesh. I lay
on my belly filling with light
and let down my lead-filled wood
on its packthread. Deep
on the bottom shadows drifted.
I played them closer, ever
closer, undeceived by the moon
inside the lake. I played them,
and remembered the squirrel’s
earth-cold fingers made a
human touch as I handed it food,
eating in my thin blue shadow.