Winter Window

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.