You have come to this place alone, shedding your winter skin, breathing cold air and holding it in your lungs. You stand naked on the frozen edge, your body clean and white, sculpted from the snow beneath your feet. The moon is swollen and sad, the wind tacit, teasing frost from the pines, sifting it into shards that slip to earth like ground glass. Dusted cattails crack and quiver. An owl slips from the black, passes low across the snow, fades from the moon’s reach. Watching, you feel the hoarfrost creep and cling to your flesh. For a moment your eyes close and you catch the tumbling frost on stinging fingertips, lay a hand on your breast and let the air drift away. Look into the moon’s face; then step into the night and let the open water reveal its mystery.