Five Poems

The Ice Field

I come down from the dunes
And into the reeds
Where the rhizome of plastic
Works out of the sand,

And waterfowl, on their heads
A curious fire,
Skulk evicted.
Before me lies the icefield of the lake,

Its margin raised
Above the grass. Five yards in
It moans beneath my feet; a fevered child,
And I wait, breath cancelled,

As if I had awoken
In an unfamiliar room.
Slowly, hurting, I kneel down
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