The Mystery of Footprints

At the top of a mountain
there is a blue-green lake,
so clear you can see all
the way to the bottom
where boulders are spotted
with some dream lichen —
cold water and children
on the opposite shore
tossing in stones.
At my feet a mystery:
tiny tracks in the snow.
What animal made them?
How did I get —

Here, my son wakes me.
I don’t want to help him.
He’s nervous. He’s had a nightmare,
can’t even go back
to bed on his own.
I take him there, trying to hold on
to the feeling of that delicious water.
I ask him about his bad dream;
he tells me robbers came in
and stole me away from him.
I share my dream
to soothe him. He says ‘night
before I’m finished. The mystery
of footprints still unsolved.