I Think I Know; i’ve heard lakes break like my heart, when lonely

A poem.

One more drink before we go. I said,
into the woods, into the distant snow.
But, her woods were not lovely. Dark, deep
I said. The warmth, the breadth
of my queer horse between my gaunt legs. Ringing
in the bell and dormant death,
I run the course of fear and delight. In snow,
on this promising night. I am alone,
to gaze through sweeps of broken silence.