In April's Thaw

In April’s thaw, the ice pushes itself away

after too much close contact all winter

with the land, that thin line called shore,

out of its element, grumbling in late fall’s

cold to settle itself for the season, locked in

solid by a frozen bulwark, closing it off;

and grumbling again now in waking,

it pushes away, is thrown back, windblown, shattering

against the land thawing, too, tossed about

until the great sheets of ice reduce themselves

to fluidity and the gap between ice and shore

expands, extends, opens again to earth and wind

and water, returning, as we need to, to ourselves.