Tell me eye, what do you see?
I see the ice, growing off roof.
Dipping and dripping, down.
I see the sky, set, setting with morning-strung clouds,
The wind, in the bush branches and under birds’ wings.
The ice fisher, in his little tent. I feel his cold.
I see my own reflection and collection, growing.
My spirit taking breath, form, pace inside me.
I feel the self, corners rigid, some rugged, some smooth.
Tossed by years, yearning, torn by exhaustion. By life.
I breathe again.
I feel the compassion of the ages.
The masses of the winds of the years: breathing, yearning.
I know we are one.
We will continue to grow, to set, to settle.
Like the iced-caked sky above and her companion lake below,
Into who it is we are, who it is we will be, and become.
