The River's Offer

a poem at the end of winter

I plunge my hands through the skin of ice - the scrape of winter's teeth along my wrists, the cold round jewels beneath my fingertips, the anxious river pulling at my palms, pleading:

Come along, go with me, beneath these skeletal maples and snow-shivering pines we can watch the sun waver overhead beneath these blurry-cold waters.
  
But I don't have time. 
There are pebbles to sift through while looking for delight.
There are sleeping fish to grasp, lift, and bless with the bite of frozen air. 
  
I have ice to shatter, 
worlds to turn upside down, 
and minnows to teach how to fly.