My body lowered across the carpet, 

she creaked the door into just the right 

 

position. Obsessed with contrast, she halved me 

with shade, and I dangled on the edge

 

of some lovely, fatal height. She crouched 

down, brushing the straps of my dress off 

 

my shoulders: an illusion of bareness.

The Nikon hovered above

 

my neck, my jaw, inspecting 

each part in isolation before pulling

 

back to snap the portrait, the flash 

like a blade in the evening

 

sun. Once she developed the prints

she displayed them in front of me, admiring

 

any bone that stretched my skin,

lauding how sharp the shadow cut.

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Subglacial

​

The ice cracked, 

I dropped. My love

dove to save me.

 

The surface froze 

over quick, trapped

us with the silver-

 

gold fish. And

what? We built

 

a home of sunken

branches, lolling

pond weeds, our days

 

lit by the filtered

sun, mist-soft as

shower steam. We

 

settled like silt in 

our water-silk world, 

our winter’s privacy. 

 

Every kiss between

us formed a pearl, 

a glad, white flame.

 

Those we once knew

stood above the

ice, watched as we

 

lived. They cried

for how cold

we must be.