Barefoot on Thin Ice HTML version

The Spring
The spring
In the canyon
Has settled down
To the dull purr of Fall
Not ready for Winter
But dreaming of Spring.
She has frozen
And gushed
And steamed
But in her day of rest
She tickles the stones
Rounded by years of a mother’s love
And the reckless meander
Of a lover
Or a child
Or a broken-in dog.
In the prime of her life
She dreams
Of the rush of the Spring melt
Clutching, biting
Out of her mind
Ecstatic at random
And teasing her banks.
The cold of Winter
Ice piled on ice
But still the spring
This is her season
To lurk
And be.