wade the water alone
running cold, spring's thaw
run-off tumbles over dead moss,
chils our bones

i saw you take the first step,
peeking between my fingers;
a flesh and bone mask,
watching if you'd trip

safe distance behind
skulking, gliding, pacing
a short-cut leads
where the end is true

the island's back side cove
beneath a wash-out birch root,
under coal sand soot black
head and shoulders dove

a shovel walking stick
covers you up, now cry how
sand bears heaviest on your head
three feet thick.