The Lake

Pink-golden dusk of late winter
sun skates along the ice of willowed shores
as dusted expectation soars
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 blue-blue ice
seductive
weird
haunting
wearing red heels
mysterious glaciered passage

from

pink-golden

innocence