at the bottom of a stagnant lake lived a dead forest black trunks standing knuckle deep in muck branches simply armature for a fluttering array of gray scarves blowing in the watery wind molds and aquatic plant life growing quieter in near darkness the forest laid down years ago gave up the sun and the breezes the same arguments from the same birds slid back toward the sandy edge then gradually leaned over one after another they followed under the forgiving cover of progressively longer nights a very slow migration the stars really werenβt watching eventual full immersion nothing left uncovered but the land around the lake the gray water always present became all any tree could remember oxygenating the murk for a while the contradictions grew in place of leaves instead of hopeful young twigs stanchions indicating nothing huddled together under the surface standing sunken in an air more dense a different kind of time passing light arriving but only in soft whispers