up ahead
past the patch of asters
and the double-nested pine
the body has its own designs
like a willful child
or a petulant bride
there is little room for prayer
the cartoon heart,
like a muscle,
so easily sprained
by simple truths
like the small lake
with its blue jewels
or the rainless sky,
not a cloud or a wing
or any glad distraction
with January's cobalt glare
razor-sharp and godly
such a tight-lipped,
peaceful terror
