Ice Flow

Churning seawater wears at the perimeter
Forcing its recession; surging beneath;
Pounding at its weakening underbelly.

The initial fracture spawns more and soon,
Great shards of ice are kicked aside,
Giving way to an escape hatch.

Now a geyser is born with each undulation of the sea.
An angry liquid column bursts into the air
And a cloud of spray is a slap in the face
To a low skimming skein of red breasted geese
Just minding their own business;
Cruising for a fish dinner; a respite
From their thousand mile trek
To the annual arctic summer convention.

Formation befuddled, they land, indignant
On the ice field and strut about on flat feet,
Twitching and flapping; honking and clapping
Their beaks.

Their bodies are a bold geometry
Of black and red shapes, white bordered;
Native American paintings come to life.

The small one drifts away from the others.
His small patch of ice has broken away
And drifts down a channel between greater ones.
He staggers to the raft's leading edge
And leans forward, puffing up red breast
And craning his neck.

He is the bowsprit of his own little ship.