The Secret (Lake Revisited in December)

That was a fake lake. The ice
a toxic gloss, phlegmy,
like what came out my mouth
from the hundred days' cough.

The reflection is not one.
The shapes differ, it's just paint--
paint below some more paint.
God wrings out snow

and it's lighter than mine.
Smells of apple mist,
vanilla. You can push
your nose right through it

unlike my white architecture
which passes for winter.
We can't break
through this. We can't drown

beneath it because we can't
get in. Can I handle the lack
of drowning. Can we sit by
the bank and watch

as the lake blankets itself.
The frozen falls shatter
over a girl too precious. Wait.
Don't touch. The white smears.