I went to the lake
To drown all the poems
I had written for him.
The unblinking moon
Looked at me with eyes open wide.
Like mystic Rumi, plunged in thoughts,
Sensations sublime all dead
And not a memory left,
I looked at the ripples
Moving with grace of the peacocks.
They refused to wet the poems
And allow the ink to blend
In the waters crystal clear.
I showed my broken wings of love
And they cried with me.
Finally, I immersed the poems
And saw them swimming like ducks
In the beautiful lake, the ink untouched.
The next day, I went to look for my poems.
To my surprise, I saw the lake frozen.
I cried like a child.
Ducks, Moon, Lake Bemidji -- Angie Nistler