She lies quietly, darkly supine
the gray canopy turning her sparkling blue
to deep obsidian black.
The north breeze, touching her skin,
fails to rouse her.
As darkness falls, blinding watchful eyes,
she coyly pulls the coverlet of crystal and
wind-blown snow over her till, covered,
she begins her sublime
winter sleep.
Lying beneath the ice
that cracks and groans
and grows ever thicker
pressing her down into her bed,
holding her captive.
On the coldest nights, she’ll steam
as she dreams of the caress of August’s sun,
the laughter of fish breaking her surface
and the emerald offerings of trees.