Outside, snow heaps and drifts along

the dark shores of the woods. I shut

my eyes; I am back on that deck, the motor

stilled so we might float among them.

I drop to my knees, lean toward water,

bending as low as I can, desperate

as any lost child before his god.

Often in winter I think of them—

their gray backs arched over the wave,

the clear geysers of their breath ejected,

the great, steady engines of their hearts,

how they refuse to part. On that vast blue-

green stage, its curtain always open.