Saturday, December 29, 2012

Think Ice Fields

photo: ralph murre

Think Ice Fields                                                        by Bobbie Krinsky

  Howling wind   wild waters                                                                       slamming wild waters                                                                                        flash freeze                                                                                                         Saw tooth slabs                                                                                              bathed in sunset’s fading fire                                                                                jag through black nights
 endless days
  till Earth tilts back                                                                                                 towards the sun                                                                                                   and blue ice                                                                                                          moaning for midnight’s moon                                                                     shudders and shifts                                                                                     tumbling blocks                                                                                                    big as rooms
                      over and under                                                                                                         slabs splitting into chunks                                                                                                           and chips so thin                                                                                                                      they crackle                                                                                                                                like shattering glass                                                                                               as they bump and bob past                                                                              black-banked willows  
  branches plumped                                                                                                so yellow with sap                                                                                        everywhere I turn  I hear                                                                                    wind chimes                                                                                                             and the red wings’ spring songs                                                                         ringing across   open waters

~ first published in A Slender Thread (Little Eagle Press)