Shallow Beds

。

Still pale sleep, still only the fragrance of dreams. I open my face to the sun and breathe the sharp air, feel the snow shatter with every step. A mallard stands with one leg on a stone in the half-frozen creek, utterly still, asleep. I stand on the edge in the shade of the willow, listening to the waterfall quietly carve through its own ice.

casting my eyes
into the stream —
clear and cold