The End of Lake Superior

of the forest.
The raw silk of it
             peeking out
from its

heavily ironed
dress shirt.

Still more surface
             area than flowing
water, it was

hard to live by glacial
repose alone.

The visible saints
             drifting again

into imitation,
into the world’s late

afternoon.

We buried ourselves
at her bequest.

“Water,” a poem by Ladan Osman