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  • Lammergeier Staff

Night Song for Lake Ice | Isaac Fox


Turn

your

lantern

face-up and

turn your face up and

see the whirling constellations

of snowflakes. Do not raise your

hood—let each lost and fallen one melt

in the forest of your hair. Do not close your

eyes—let snow melt also into those boiling salt

sinks. Stare and squint across snow and ice at warm

windowlights and know they aren’t welcoming you, they

won’t take you, so just stay here, feel ice creep through your

eyebrows, feel your ears turn red and then blue, listen to the living

lake’s woodblock adjustments, lift your eyes, just for one yawning

moment, and look to the hemlock bank, its moonlit checkerboard of snow-

flexed branches, and then turn the lantern, turn your gaze down and dig, dig as deep

as you can, bury your eyes in the layers of what falls, has fallen, will keep on keep on keep on

falling.





Isaac Fox is an English and creative writing major at Lebanon Valley College. When he’s not reading or writing something assigned, he’s probably reading or writing something unassigned. His work has previously appeared in Tiny Molecules, Rejection Letters, and several other publications.


Twitter: @isaac_k_fox

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