And Jacob woke from his sleep and said …this is the gateway to the sky.
From days inside as if
underwater light, the worked
tissue of verses: onto a lake
trail, into almost snow. Collapsed
cattail husks, bare willow,
a wooden ladder drifts up
through the straying branches. Time
slowed down by the quiet almost
until we’re holding our
breath. Here in a spot with oil
on the stones, ice skin on little
puddles, a glitter surprised on the ground.