Kristofer Collins: Looking at the Lake

for Jude Vachon

Fresh cords of wood stacked against

the eastward wall and some songs

I knew all the words to in high school

add their old crackle to the fire’s 

static; the empty courtyard

and the black-bricked Chinese restaurant

beyond get hazy at the edges, grow

soft as mud. I could use a drink,

but I was sick all last night, so

I drink my water from this blue cup

instead. All the words I know, each one

a useless thing. I think of your ashes

in a small jelly jar on a shelf in the pantry

at home, useless too. Where are your 

wonderful ideas now? All ten thousand

of them, each one a tiny grain you

let loose in this world. I should have done

more, I guess. Should maybe have said

something. I don’t know what language

could have reached you out there

on the lake, what bridge could be bothered

to bring you back now.

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Copyright 2022 Kristofer Collins

Kristofer Collins’s many collections of poetry include The River is Another Kind of Prayer (Kung Fu Treachery Press, 2019). He lives in Pittsburgh.