phase_diagrams_written_

in ice
on ice
for ice
you might say that
of me
when
I'm on the ice
in the ice
of the ice/
.
Crookedly booming
slip slid crossing
to stand on the bottom of the river
on a rock protrusion
the breath of
an eagle
the eye of an seagull
flapping over the open water that is left steaming and brooding
up a church full of indelible motions
the ice is pushing
in on its self turning back into water in the
only watery way that peculiarliar is is is reversed
a whole verste of ten inches and internal fluxuations
in every direction but a quick stream
refusing the containment of cold/

that is where I live and always.