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.
Blue Space
dip your finger
through the thaw, then dive—
snow slack as plasticine,
icing dissolving on our tongues
while we swim in the unfallen dark.
no vows, no names,
nothing the mouth can ruin.
only insects worrying the reeds,
the flies; a lark blurring somewhere beyond sight,
singing us back before language.
when evening lowers itself
onto the lake,
moonlight fills the cracks in the ice.
tonight we swim,
and we swim.