frozen lake geese after the snow

i sell my eyelids for marigolds.
summer is going to have fish this year.
we caught a dream animal & let it go.
the heat coming with webbed feet.
the farmer digs a hole to drain the lake. 
in winter it had frozen & i would
almost every day, wake up beneath
the surface. a television girl for the geese
who walked toward their body compass.
when it snowed the mornings were
blaring & white. i didn't need my lungs
so i used them to carry feathers toward
an oven glow. they didn't accept fire
like hair. crumbled love poem.
the lake, a taunt drum. the geese asked me
through the glass, "do you know 
we are going to have an april again?"
i treated their promises like disbatches
from a holy ship. i replied, "no i did not."
sitting in the show as a little boy,
i worried horribly about the future super nova. 
if there would still be birds once we
were all turned into light. the geese are 
confused about the drained lake just as
i am. i no longer wake up there. the sun
has to drink from puddles on the road.
the path between the fields is too overgrown
to traverse anymore. still, i see the deer.
their eyes, lakes. i ask them from a distance.
"would you let me wake up in your dark water?"
they never respond. i understand some 
intimacies are not for me. still, i crave
that quiet beneath the ice when the geese above
appeared like idols. they once told me 
a story of lovers who could only meet 
during a blizzard. i never got the ending
so i fill it with swords. so i fill it with
eyes. when it rains, the lake returns briefly.