Crossing Thin Ice Like a Polar Bear

Roots and Branches,

hardly a metaphor for living

on this cold December

full moon night I sit

thinking of April.

Even the birds don’t want

these cold baron limbs.

They have more sense

and went south for winter.

I used to be that guy,

the one who would make you laugh

as you take a sip of your drink.

Afraid now, my words,

may crush the pansies, I pray

for an ice age to happen

and it came true—earth now

frozen over like a giant rum ball,

light fluffy snow covers all its disgust.

I open the windows, open the doors,

stand for hours listening to silence.

With glacier glasses I step out

looking left, looking right,

I can touch a polar bear; we skate forever.

Whisper into the thin cold air,

I will give anything to save you.