The night that boy fell drunk
through the hole his brother sawed
in Cut Foot Lake, ice licked the hole shut
before he’d even stretched for its edge,
or maybe he didn’t stretch.
The story settles easier that way –
the boy (whose mama, that evening,
had Ziploc-bagged his moonboots against damp)
easing his way back through that black
underwater, looking only up.
The ice plate resting on Cut Foot Lake
caught what light the sky made,
inflamed it, so the lip of the world shone
above him, cradled his gaze.
He saw the dark gash he fell through
gather itself and seal, so that before
he was silt-sunk, what he saw
was flawless, and he was glad for it.