Karina Longo

Blue Light incandescent boy, made of splashes of glacial light; you have grown old, but that's no crime. the lake once lured you under, but the wreck of forked tongues is water now, folded into the wheel of the northern lights. still, you glow, like diamond dust under the frost-lit skies, and glowing blue, too, was never a crime. we stand by the lake. my toe touches the thaw in the bluest light.