Frisbee

Water shivers on ice
after thaw-freeze-thaw,
shaking pines and clouds
multi-layered and glassy.

The wind cooling up
begs my hand for a Frisbee-
a long, shallow skim, breathing
low bumpy trails,
new zags on skies--
improbably drifting
a full kilometer to the far bank.
My fingertips fret
at its stubborn absence.

I shake at the half-remembered feel
of that which hasn't been,
and seem to glimpse a plastic disk
whipping low into the far woods.

Jan. '00

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