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.
