Since Breaking Through The Ice

I have seen them bend a man in an impossible way
and pull him down a fishing hole; wrapped
my hands, too cold to hold, around my neck
and dreamt of drowning under white skies;
discovered a mark like a crow’s wings
around my left calf;
scoured the shore in spring for blue-black
bodies I pray wash up but never do;
walked on water as though it were frozen,
tried diving in only to hit a rippling surface;
yearned for the day the ice breaks under me
again, so I may go home to them.

—Dominik Parisien