Border Guard
It is past midnight, and the midwife
is crossing the frozen lake.
Out in the middle she weaves her way
among darkened fishing shacks
where before dawn ice will freeze a membrane
over each chopped hole. A sky
of northern stars casts its watery shadow
over her dark form stepping ashore,
merging with the hedgerow. While a mile
beyond the next crossing
someone chops ice, lights a fire,
keeps an eye out for her arrival;
and from deep in unchartered sky a star travels
like a decoy through dark and infinite space,
its pale aquatic eye
brimmed with first light.
