The treeline lopes with a gnawing slope
Down to the lakeline, that icy sheet
Pulled over the eyes in winter.
Then the head comes up and over
Disarming suspense with a lifting motion,
The sky a staircase of stratus.
What underscores the face of every lake,
Every meandering stream that awakes,
A simple reflection that climbs into the dawn,
Burrowing in a bed of delicate moments
Which bloom in the light and wilt by nightfall,
This is the heart of Texas after all.
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