← v21n3, Spring 2023
Poetry · Volume 21, Number 3

The Lake in Winter

When it’s quiet like this,

no boats, no WaveRunners,

the sun in sequins on the calm water,

you can almost hear

the plinkings leaking

from the spring’s mossy bowl

up on the mountain,

the trickle that starts the trek,

that slight spill

that becomes this tonnage of silence.