Three weeks into a heat wave

and the quicksilver pulse of roach or rudd

and these circles they riffle on the pool

and the jack pike passing under that spooks them

reminds me of when we were here in winter

how a hairline crack in the ice shook us

how we froze as water scuttled our shoes

how the reeds we rushed to are now further out

and how a mind is a drift of roots

and nothing sits passive in its place