ICE
A small animal went out to the middle
And disappeared. No sign of anything
Further. At the border, where trees
No longer take root, the brave track,
Steadfast, written only so far.
We grow quiet enough to hear the moan of ice,
The rumble of deep water going
Beyond its beyond; we cannot break open
Without loss. And ice with nothing more
To remember, shifting under its own weight
As if it could stay forever. Do not let the word for this
Stand for something else. It is this.
[painting: Hokusai, Snow at Saga in Y Province]