The type of waking that this poem seems to reference is more than just the daily waking from sleep, but waking up from a time long past, buried in the ice and unchanging. The person who awakes the narrator, the "you" in the poem, is never seen, but their tracks, the marks they left behind, will stay. To be honest, i don't quite know what to make of this poem, but I find it beautiful and very poignant.
Dead to the world a thousand years,
in a lake immured in ice.
You woke me up.
Mist. I found I'd been sleeping
in a charred forest.
My body clung to night.
White light from the depth of the glacier
floods into my skin,
reminds me –
you walked on that lake.
Leaving your tracks – skin, scars.