It was winter when I found the angel
frozen in the lake. Its eyes were bright
like berries served on silver cheeks, its wings
were wrinkled banners furled against its back
its mouth was open, and I felt a strange
hunger howling in my gut, and fear
at how its figure, contorted among red rags
looked like an emperor’s chop spelling my name
and the snow piled on my shoulders and my hat.
It was a flock of geese that broke the spell
leistering the sky with cries. I ran
home to the cabin’s hearth, where father asked
why I’d taken so long and if I’d brought
the fish for supper, and why my eyes were wet.
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