Water —
The Mere Of Ice

The morning’s walk repair
is stone–in–shoe disturbed
at the cool wind glade:

high contrast light
rushed dark leaves
flashed sun.

The rain worn paper notice,
on the silver slatted shutter–down kiosk
commands us to walk the mere of ice,

blind white
blotching pools
slow earth.

But I know it will fail my doubt;
I take the grass and boulder soaring path,
walking up the double–bended valley,

watching down
on faith belief
crash–drown.