More About Nance Van Winckel More Poems by Nance Van Winckel Having to Decide Amongst Ourselves Give it Up Little Blue Heron I Watched Her Go Keep the Engine Running What My Father Would Say Order Nance Van Winckel's latest book from Amazon!

Nance Van Winckel Man Shaving a Woman's Legs He's spent all day chaining up the dock to higher ground. Ice already at the lake edge. The chains large, red with rust. And this water in her bath warm, lapping at the torn mangled hands. The white algae and the steam, a hiss when the boat slips low. The mountains out the window haunt the far shore, ghosts one sees and then doesn't. The year's work just goes on adding up the years. Juts and jags. Dangers. The shoreline in a creamy fog. Slowly setting out a silvered path from here to there. The warmth a fish flees to at the depths. Night moorings, folds of years, old paths parting old mountains.