The wind goes
on with its
sorting, the lake bed cradles its dead.
But part of the language the glacier
used
to speak to the sculpted substrate will
include this bit of sediment.
We didn't mean to fail you. We were
here.

If I had the lungs for diving I expect I'd be there
too among the broken ribs and keels.

when clearly
the canopy calls to them and days have passed before you've even
begun,
when nothing in the undergrowth has
prompted so much as a whimper, you
must turn your thoughts to the other bank.