Your Eyes

These ducks were not yet hatchlings

When the cold  lake took your last warm breath,

enveloping your heart as it slowed and

you slid downward, toward the silt

until it stood still.

This morning, the  lake  looks the same

Crows complaining through the dawn’s silver air

Geese overhead, marching through fine silk clouds

Your ashes on a mantel, miles up shore,

cannot see the waters early magic sparkle.

This shine came from your eyes.

Eyes rolling upward like the waves

Lapping onto shore

White blanks


An early, watery grave.