Voices as of Lions Coming Down

Abigail Wadsworth Serfass
May 27, 2015
Comments 0

—Still brutes? Yes. —Still fools? We?
Of course. Deep January
heavy and forever, way down on us
it sits. Ice-heavy, our needles,
our canopy, sapped. We watched it: the lake

eat the light. All of it. Why
we ask; but nothing. Scraped faces
off the birds, they eat no fish. They
gods of the lake: fish. Under the ice
the gods swim slow, we say.

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