Minnesota

BY Liz Rees

Just below the ice
fish stop flying
for a second to listen
to the single midnight
snowplow, pushing around
and round the lake, playing
bassoon behind a piccolo.
And for a moment, I,
too, am a falling note,
must wade straight
into moonlight toward
the plow that paves this rink
in the middle of the night,
pushing and pushing until
the snow skates into a perfect,
spinning fugue.

(originally published in PINYON 2013)