Halfway in
the stand of black birch
flecked red, pale mitts of leaf.
The battered stones
of a ruined cistern, a field
that once was tilled.

Then the drop
toward water, transformation
of path to plank,
a whirlpool down to shore.
Wooden turret
in an ocean of air.

O god the water.

Rippling prairie
of glass – the wind, the wind.
Unchanged world born of glaciers.

Distant white hides, scarred,
break surface: an arch
a swell of whaleskin.

Below water, out
of ears’ reach a fierce
moan, the call.

The dipping into air
lung full of ocean –
mist, exhale – mingling
of sky and sea,

the insatiable darkness of the firs.