Baikal Poem by Henry Tong

I look into the purest pupils
of the frozen sapphire
fallen from glistening sky.

Wrinkles of God's hands
injected veins of arctic ice
in lapse of a millennium.

Glitz penetrates icicles
melting a spinning centroid
of hibernating waterfalls.

Scattered bonfires gloamed
the parted lips of mountains
from the farther lakeside.

Stars gaze at their reflections,
like a Shamanist ritual, seeking
their long lost counterparts.