In the high desert at the start of winter,
the reservoir freezes over
overnight and stays frozen for months.
We climbed up to see it
just before midnight, under a moon
so full we were convinced
that day was about to break.

The August before, we dove in
in our clothes to escape the heat.
The walls were slick with algae
and angled toward the bottom. We filled
the bowl of the valley with our voices
and when we left, our clothes dried
as soon as we were above water.

Tonight we are mostly quiet
and I am handing you rocks to throw
to crack the foggy reflections
on the reservoir’s surface.
Because the ice is not yet thick
and doesn’t reach the edges, each break
traps a few pockets of air
and we watch them: small ghosts
drifting toward the perimeter
and surfacing here, by our feet
in the half-light.