Thursday, February 20, 2014

The Lake

Pink-golden dusk of late winter
sun skates along the ice of willowed shores
as dusted expectation soars
there is no time here, no year . . I am seven
and wear red mittens
the dome of sky swells into air sharp
haunting, inhabiting the corners of circled souls
prairie, wheat grasses and milo
this  lake sits captured :
Lake Minatare
but I believe it Minotaur . .
this ancient mythological water
enchantment frozen into shores ice lace
forgotten corn & the distant deep note of sugar beets
a glimpse caught of some beaded satyr
out of the corner-pocket of my eye
riding wind-valleys over snow-tufted-grassland
rising
to
Ash Hollow
unexplained - startlingly defined
a pale pair of mannequin legs protrude from the glaciered ice. . .
seductive . .
haunting . . .  wearing red heels
mysterious passage
into
pink-golden
innocence

1 comment:

  1. Oh! Great coming-of-age inner transformational record!

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