Under Ice
Jan 28 2008


We walk on water
in heavy winters
— a hard black slab,
so thick it feels like the last ice age
crossing over.

This is rare,
the deep-freeze winter
the north wind scouring the surface clear.
As if this little lake was the kernel of a thousand year glacier,
about to freeze solid
— ice
all the way down.

Underneath
the lake is dark, motionless,
silver fish hovering, holding-on ‘til spring.
Like a lost planet,
so far out in its orbit
the sun is a thimble of pale light.
Where mysterious life forms shelter beneath the surface
moving slowly;
the way molecules approaching absolute zero
come to a stop.

It’s the snow that makes it treacherous
— a warm blanket over thin ice, despite the cold,
creaking and groaning as you cross over.
Looking back, you watch your boot-prints fill with slush
the water rising-up
its winter sleep interrupted;
as grumpy as dark January mornings
when the alarm jangles you up,
2 hours before the sun.