Icescape
Posted: Sat Nov 25, 2006 9:43 pm
Icescape
I drive to work each day this winter,
hands, eyes and feet on automatic
pilot; anticipate lane changes,
adjust the steering and gears; the foot
squeezing the brakes carefully,
synchronize speed on icy patches.
My other mind, oblivious to the
ingenious mechanics of my body,
is occupied instead with the daily
common coil, the eternal problems --
return a phone call; remind myself
to pay that bill. Surely I was misunderstood.
What was she really trying to say to me?
And what chaos do we enter
when we enter ourselves? And
what will befall, should the Chaos come?
I must, at least, remain in control;
if not, what pathways to the future will
crumble beneath me? Take a turn here, let
inner mechanics take over again
as I drive through the familiar tree
lined county road, undulating fields,
criss-crossed by low bush, new homes under
construction, dirt-tracks, lumber piles, Tyvek
insulation flapping tightly in the wind.
But last night winter must have wrapped
her cocoon with darkened mystery and
opened just as dawn edged the horizon,
for I have come upon a crystal city,
a frozen ice-scape of shivering light,
a shimmer of sugar bush; musical
spheres, white symphonies of brittle
silences, concertos of crinkled
ice echoing within the frigid earth;
white dusted weed, powdered hoar fields,
and a blue Chevy truck under a tree
ice encrusted, seized by the winter grip.
Fearful am I of making a sound,
even to breathe; my throat
constricted by the sweet
shock of paralysis, else
it will all,
all, shatter into pieces,
leave nothing, only
darkness.
I drive to work each day this winter,
hands, eyes and feet on automatic
pilot; anticipate lane changes,
adjust the steering and gears; the foot
squeezing the brakes carefully,
synchronize speed on icy patches.
My other mind, oblivious to the
ingenious mechanics of my body,
is occupied instead with the daily
common coil, the eternal problems --
return a phone call; remind myself
to pay that bill. Surely I was misunderstood.
What was she really trying to say to me?
And what chaos do we enter
when we enter ourselves? And
what will befall, should the Chaos come?
I must, at least, remain in control;
if not, what pathways to the future will
crumble beneath me? Take a turn here, let
inner mechanics take over again
as I drive through the familiar tree
lined county road, undulating fields,
criss-crossed by low bush, new homes under
construction, dirt-tracks, lumber piles, Tyvek
insulation flapping tightly in the wind.
But last night winter must have wrapped
her cocoon with darkened mystery and
opened just as dawn edged the horizon,
for I have come upon a crystal city,
a frozen ice-scape of shivering light,
a shimmer of sugar bush; musical
spheres, white symphonies of brittle
silences, concertos of crinkled
ice echoing within the frigid earth;
white dusted weed, powdered hoar fields,
and a blue Chevy truck under a tree
ice encrusted, seized by the winter grip.
Fearful am I of making a sound,
even to breathe; my throat
constricted by the sweet
shock of paralysis, else
it will all,
all, shatter into pieces,
leave nothing, only
darkness.
. We do come to rely on those automatic responses though, don't we, even when it's not in our best interests.