ICE

Most winters the river froze

A foot or more thick, visible,

Before the snows came,

By crack lines that struck

Down like lightning bolts.

I could step out fearlessly,

Though the loud zip sound

Of a fissure shot from yards

Away and ran between my legs.

As I skated the sounds of stressed

Ice followed me, just as I

Chased the schools of fish

That ran ahead of me. I was

Never quite sure what they were —

Panfish, cats, bass, carp or pike,

Never more than four or five,

Sometimes only one, like a finger.

They knew I chased them

From above their hardened sky.