on the lake   in winter

when the ice snaps solemnly through itself for
miles, taking the heart with it below
hovering canyon walls   below life, into
the murky jell below

when black water leaps through the hole
you've drilled as though spat by some
underwater deity

when one's voice won't shout for fear     when
youngsters tiptoe through the day and 
stiffen at the     (snap!)     for miles

on the lake   in winter   there is no frolic --

rather, an illicit fever at walking on water
   at dangling life within reach of the demon beneath
   at stopping the heart with that     (snap!)     for miles