the mythos of ice

he said we bind
to the frozen thing
or something like that he
was always wanting to turn
into sunlight or smoke.

i insist there's a reason
we flock. strong force, weak
force, dip in space. time
for a pair of blades maybe
a spin in the nascent vortex.

out on sheldon road, blips
and bleeps of authority
someone's life is changing
within the sound.

letters that you never meant
congregate into words that
you wish you hadn't.

slow drip of the rip
basted with warmth
then frozen again futher
along the river, like antartic
waves poised at the breadth
of a snow beach, never to break
into motion. a stasis field
where the core collects
and is exhumed years hence
after the carbon is released.

it doesn't matter if you ever
read my poems. you wouldn't
want to understand .