Little me out on the ice
Imagining movement I wait to reel in
The fish are all frozen but they live somewhere
The ice is all broken but it'll do
Fit to numb the space between my toes
And wear out my boots and hurt my heels
And remind me I'm little out on the ice

I have a pole and a poker and I'm holding them both
One shot through, one ditched off to my side
And I'm waiting to see if the sea ends in fire or in ice
And I'm waiting to see if the fish have to be burned back to life
Or if they'll end it if I numb them dumb now
Like shoving a stone outside naptime bear caves
And when a lightning bug pokes itself on my pole
I wonder what would have happened if it had landed on the tip of the poker instead
Whether light can burn light, if they cancel out life

If mammals were water-bound once
And things still are
Why don't we - all things - all live in season
(Germ is germ is dog is fish)
Freezing and burning in sync by the books?
Is it that the life form on that big banging asteroid saw little me and reconsidered
Before fishing for land and carving the ice?

Is it that life forms like me are little because that's what'll do and that's so
Or does it have to do with the numbing of big me in big little black sea?


(Written in 2006)