WINTER RECONSTRUCTIONS
I watch stately chunks of ice
move along the Hudson.
They shape-shift like time lapse photo skies,
brain-teasing puzzle pieces in play.
Like memory shards
that carry us onward.
Fast. Against our will.
Iceberg realities lurking large below.
The chilly blue light vies for position
with bright, greywhite clouds.
Quite the ballet – in and out, a reach,
a stretch, a coy peek, a grand rush.
The late afternoon wind is bleakcold.
New birds in search of Spring seek
bits of space between sparkling blocks,
as they test the ratios between breeze and bluster.
Once we watched an ice barge brazen its way
up the Chicago River. It cracked, chopped,
forced brief watery partings that quickly mended,
Sisyphus-like, an instant later.
The cold breath of memory is visible
on these frosty days. Each surfacing
is another jeweled adornment. Each melting
away a chilly termination of time travels.
I watch stately chunks of ice
move along the Hudson.
But what I really see is dredge and pull,
cut and sort. A reassembling.
It is good to do this now and then --
shake things up, stand back
and take it all in, jagged, ragged,
raw edges and all. While there is still time.
Rhinecliff, NY