Moonlight on the lake,
a pile of white night gowns—
maps to an underwater stream of light.
The flowers around the lake
grow tongues inside their petals when it rains.
But these are the truths I must live by:
the night gowns are shadows
that lead to nowhere, and if a moth lands
on the water, the lake will change color.
Two wolves drink from the lake. On the water,
the wolves’ shadows are cobalt blue.
They’re swallowing mirrors, reflections of themselves.
I imagine the alphabet set on fire then
doused in lake water. The only
surviving letters form my dead lover’s name.
If I follow the logic precisely, he will emerge
from the lake, but near the nightmare’s end,
I forget the final axiom.
The moonlit water forms the body of a human
and walks towards me. A moth lands
on the water’s outstretched arm.
Amber Day works as a recreation specialist for people on the autism spectrum and is pursuing a Master’s Degree in Child Life to help children cope with illness and hospitalization. Amber’s poetry is forthcoming in Eratio.