A Plan

She swerved through silence; sharp and impulsive,

a plan half-formed — pressure beneath, strangely pulsive,

the lake breathing against shore, holding its old pulse.

The ring — too much weight, a closed symbol of us.

A soul, ceaselessly evaporating,

Water in memory — gently porting,

a bottle empty, a left finger pale, absent of its ring,

life adrift, naked, she glides in,

a final gasp as water circles I.

The search slows — in Carleton, there are whispers,

spoken low behind backs — only a whisper,

stories shared gently, always circling her,

until they find the ring and return it to he.