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by Glenn Williams
A ground glass,
a blue opal wedged
between permafrost hills.
Smooth as a clock’s face.
A mirrored image of green;
the water’s sadness,
a pocketful of time
silently spreading.
All about, tall tree ghouls;
the remains of frozen driads
from millennia past.
Unbranched by tons of
snow and time.
They twist, mewling
over one another
like pitiful cousins,
afraid to touch.
The stunned power of fear,
surrounding an hourglass lake
like the dusk.
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