POND ICE

One footstep on the edge of the ice reverberates

In a slow march across the pond, through air to tree tops,

Broken, hyphenated sounds

Make the foot pull back before the ice caves.

Sound measures when the eyes can’t see

Through clear, corrugated water, solid enough for

Tree images to reflect from the middle of the pond frozen

Still In the light of a cold sun; the sharp surface retort

Rejects the weight of a tentative step rings out

Across the surface and silences the birds’ calls.

Water and air divided, uneven and uncertain,

Imprinted with weightless tree replicas,

Their top branches copied onto the center,

Close enough to touch if footsteps were not too heavy.

A thin crust thickens in time, keeps the fluid layer warm,

Creates a stone silence at the edge of a field,

Holds simple waves captive at their peaks,

Like fossils from the first cold wind left to stand in mid-stroke,

Their march suspended in mid-step,

As a foot, held back quickly at the sound of an alarm.

© cmheuer, 2013