To the left of mercy, sunlight melts the ice. We penetrate the cold mystery in the middle of the lake the irregular expanses of the interior of water. A storm composes itself from the slipping sky. The endless skein of cloud shifts northward into our endless sky. To equivocate look at the moon leave the Earth.                           * Your name rises, glistening, to my skin. The nineteenth day of February somersaults from your lips to mine, and we discern Ripples of sincerity. Our souls, our humanity, the petals of our shared character plucked from the modest ground–the beauty of alchemy in flight. Across the water fashions change, cities sinistrally and clumsily seek to persuade us of our deity as in each other’s eyes our steps meet.

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