I.
In the mountains beside the lake. Its cold
shore forgotten, winds ripple the surface.
II.
For a long time he searches in the gravel
for a good stone to skip, but everywhere
he sees jagged edges.
III.
Eventually he discovered what he knew
from the beginning, why he came to the lake,
what lies just beyond the clear waters.
IV.
Deep in the center of the lake he knew,
the entrance, probably carved from stone
by an architect in the Grecian style,
all those years ago.
V.
Even the fish have not made it their home,
so cold is the radiance of the void.
VI.
For the twenty-first time he has circumambulated
the waters, and still not a stone to skip.
He begins to wonder if time never disturbed the lake,
never caused the waters to stir, never smoothed
the rocks deposited on the shore at creation.
VII.
He imagined those who came before him,
skipping merrily the stones time disgorged,
right to the center of the lake, whereupon they sank,
and the void took every perfection away,
leaving the shore entirely barren.
VIII.
Finally he gave up the search as the sun waned
pale behind the cloudy pine treeline,
and the winds halfhearted, disappeared entirely.
Where he lay crumpled on the shore, his gaze fell
once more, and he saw himself, reflected in the still glacial melt.
