sloth lake

a poem by zachary olson

one winter when the snow fell hard
the mountains held it high higher
than ever seen before and in
spring sun rayblades cut triangles
of ice into smaller and smaller
geometries gravity pulled it all
downhill and kept it cupped it
into around the town until all
the people had to leave their
flooded basements and attics
until the last remain the evidence
was an old church steeple which
sat all summer through fall
when frost an old traveler crept
moldlike across the water white
the surface whistle smooth
and when the wind leapt up
the jostled steeple sent echoes
of a call to worship out into
a lost valley of displaced people