I’ve cast the three who lived
(thrown, broken, mending)
upon the river of the world
(flown, dammed, bending)
they drift in solemn leisure
(whether will or chance or fate)
like shining broken windows
(not shy not strong not vain)
their wings catch specks of twilight
(the eddies hold them fast).
Three pulled toward the lake
(so great, so dark, so deep)
the walleye and the muskies
(wend sleepily there beneath)
whose mouths are open, closed
(up to the surface drawn)
the struggle never-ending
(the winter long so long)
so long to winter so long my past
(my future rides in currents cast.)
Halfway North 