Hard Weather Crossing the Lake by James Owens

If you gather to yourself this greenish, oblique clarity
as forewarning and promise,
it will illuminate

your earliest, dimming guilts and griefs, however petty
or childishly grave, and will measure
you against the chilling buffets

that cut foam from the waves and blast rain through you.
See how your hands have gone
almost weightless now,

as absolved in the storm as stones falling through clean water,
washed of event, complete and apart,
and hardly even yours.

— from Juniper Volume 5, Issue 2