always the prospect
of thin ice. the innate
knowledge of gradation:

thick porcelain white,
then something finer
the rippled translucence

of bathroom windows
and so on, down to the
thinnest dusk-gray wafer

where the first cracks
split open, the drifting
snow suddenly

blue as a vein.

then

underwater, the ice
like a second sky,

snow skating across
in filamentary clouds.

the water only cold
for a minute

and the rest, easy.
so quiet

and so still.