Uncertain Ice

Jan 12 2012

Even in January

I couldn’t be sure

of the ice.

The complex strata

of freezing,

like geology

in real time.

Top-down

there’s fresh snow, uncertain crust.

The sound of foot-steps

muffled.

And bottom-up

bedrock ice.

That began as a glaze

on a brilliant lake

one October morning,

nascent ice, near shore.

I cannot explain

the unearthly sound it makes,

tinkling like tiny crystal chimes

in the preternatural stillness.

Easily shattered

until one cold day, it lasts,

hard-pan

impervious.

Next, the crunch

of crystallized snow.

Remodelled

by pressure and thaw,

like a stratum of rock

deep beneath the surface.

But it’s the layer of slush

that throws me off,

hidden, in the middle

in-between.

Where liquid water

has no right to be,

and wet feet

are deadly

in cold this deep.

Every step

as if I’m falling through.

Black water

awaiting me

underneath,

dense, and airless.

Which will never freeze;

however deep

into winter.