Only in the heart of Michigan

Am I a polar bear paddling in a lake as big as a small ocean.

I always slept through the morning swim—

The water has sharp, serrated edges for waves,

Swallowing me as I thrash to reach the surface.

But my feet were heavier than stones

And I drowned until dusk.

When the symphony of crickets marched me to my resurrection,

My body was starlight and seafoam.

Sand is better than snow.

Both have microscopic beauty.

So I lay on the dock

Waiting for my savior to bathe me in white light

And study me in the name of medicine.

Left out to dry out under the scarlet sky—

Summer will mummify me.

If they’d open my skull,

They would see the Garden of Eden,

The serpent

And a puddle where the icicles melted

On top of Winter’s unmarked grave.