Only Innocence

It is because the lake was so clear this summer.
Invisible anyway, far from shore,
the bottom has disappeared–
disappeared and a cloud covers
the only blue left for our dimming while.

under the fading deception of glitter-
masking surface ripples,
the lake deepens to charcoal.
Ancient lava-frozen surface far down and distant.

Still and hard below.
Obsidian. Malpais.
The desperate transience of any cold-water lake,
igneous in color and shine
a mile above the igneous source that stood

still for the creation of the first miniscule death,
the comedy still-born after silly
eons of evolving foodstuff.
A famished eye trawls for beads
of the first obsidian tears.

Richard Fenton Sederstrom was raised and lives in the Sonoran Desert of Arizona and the North Woods of Minnesota. Sederstrom is the author of seven books of poetry, his newest book, Icarus Rising, Misadventures in Ascension, published by Jackpine Writers' Bloc, was released last winter. Read other articles by Richard Fenton.