Small ponds freeze first,
in the beginning, with just a film
at sunrise you wouldn't even
notice and then a crust
that lasts till noon. Now half-sunk slush
doesn't melt and the conspiracy of molecules
spreads to lakes. In the stillness
of a single night, when one breath
of wind might make the difference
between water and ice, solid reaches in and in
and grasps the last ripple for its own.
Joan Ruvinsky
Photo: Peter Bowers
