on snow covered lakes poetry a hole is dug and with your jacket (made of down) you take a dive i’d call it a swim but treading attempting to stay alive as you look on in longing and me laughing. yea “swim” is probably not the best word. Share this: Click to share on Bluesky (Opens in new window) Bluesky Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window) Tumblr Click to share on Mastodon (Opens in new window) Mastodon Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Facebook Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window) Reddit Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) Pinterest Click to email a link to a friend (Opens in new window) Email Click to share on X (Opens in new window) X Like Loading...