Timberline

sheer blades of ice
on all sides stab
into the smooth stone
bowl filled with freezing lake

wind shreds
from the pierced blue sky
down the razor ridge,
chops the surface
like a messy axe job.

wind
until the flowers shrink
to a low tapestry of colors
and even the unspeakably cavernous depths
somewhere at the lake's bottom
swirl.

— 1990, from Poems