Ice Man

 

I’m shaving off

little pieces.

Trying to get down

to what I really am,

but all I find is more ice

and more ice

and more ice

and the snow flies,

piling up around my feet;

memories,

then taken by time.

 

Quickly now,

the season is changing.

The days of those

like me

are counted

and found short,

as the light in the sky

rises, unbidden

above the tops

of the eastern hills.

It catches my facets,

my inclusions

and my planes.

Rendering me brilliant,

before I begin to lose my edges.

I slide,

slowly from my virtue,

back into the ground

from where I came.

 

Soon,

as the seasons change,

I am gone back into the Earth.

Then baked by the Sun,

rise back up as vapours;

high again,

like I was so long ago.

A cloud,

a wisp;

tiny droplet vestments

clothe my spirit

as the jet stream winds me away.

 

Sometimes I fall again,

on mountain tops,

on fair farm fields,

or grey, concrete blocks.

I run through sinks

and ditches,

sewers and sluice gates,

through raging rivers

and crystal prairie creeks,

but inexorably,

with time,

I am the Sea again.

 

Vast waters,

Vast pool.

The big empty.

Back to eternity;

at least,

for a little while.

Home again,

though in my time,

I have carved my lines

into the world.

 

HG – 2018

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