The climb out

Winter poked a pointed claw
at my chest
but the water had said: come,
there's still time;

it parted with a crinkling chime,
glassier,
and fire-fish circled my heart, submerged;
dutiful wine
while my fingers, touching the crone,
knew the future cold.

Two geese, huge, shouted from a nearby roof:
heat can only be made by you now,
fools!
Kicking mud crystal,
I knew this truth
churning in my bone cage

and I spun:
gathering my fluid self
tight to me
tighter than memory,

resigned
that blue teeth were coming,

wise, stolid, dry lace

to claim the lake
and I must begin 
the climb out.