Lantern Pool Vigil

Steam billows and then holds, as if listening. Kneeling figures lower paper boats onto a pale pool, their sleeves dark with water, their movements rehearsed by earlier winters. Lanterns tremble on the surface, each flame a small conquest against the cold that rims the rocks and beads the wooden rail. Above, a shelter sheds icicles and prayer slips; below, petals cling to stone and drift, paused mid-spin. Someone once taught the children to fold the boats tighter so they would travel farther, and that memory steers this night. The ravine keeps its distance, cliffs watching with the patience of statues while silhouettes pass on a bridge in the fog. Heat rises from the spring, a soft breath against numbed fingers. The words “Where Vojta?” ghost the stone, not shouted, just surviving the damp. Time stops where the boats touch water and do not yet move. The flames float forward. Vojta does not appear, and the search continues, warmed only by what keeps burning.