Wind beaten, the lake
mutters chill tranquility,
dances in a sudden sun,
cowers again under cold,
under cloud. Unrest
whispers from its shoulder-perch
demonic offerings in ears,
but even the freezing shade
cannot quite muster credulence.
The lake has rippled
in these fang winds
for thousands of years: it knows
a depth more cold, more blue
than transient hours unsatisfied
could ever plot to penetrate.