She told me about the first frost,
how all the violet frosted over lakeside.
She would cover each flower with a jar.
Only the sprouts, though,
because they were just short enough to be protected.
Each leaf posed like a figurine,
the ones uncovered froze over,
gone but eternally lacustrine.
In the spring,
she would scatter seeds like marbles
and hope that the creatures wouldn’t have to freeze over again.
Preserve like mushrooms,
become strong like triangles,
and eternal like mahogany wood.