Bluff

Walking along the lake edge, there is no ice in the water itself, only the brush and boulders wear the shroud of ice. As the waves hit shore, the splatter throws a thin coat on rock and branch, on washed up driftwood, on the red plastic ball. Under the water, in the shallows, a bed frame, a broken rounded brick, infinite mottled tones, grays, reds, yellows, rest in their gleaming.

a stone
   a stone
      a lie

~

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