The Unexpected Thawing Of Blue Ice Poem by Jack Oates

These memories we harbour
are so fragile;
thin ice opaque
above murky waters.

Reflections in a silvery pale
of the people
and the places
we once knew.

Fractures in the permafrost
dislodge pebbles
that sink slow -
the lives, the loves;
some lost to the dust,
some returned, in time.

We look behind us
across the hoary void,
at those charcoal saplings.
Drawn stark in the distant hue,
forever young.

Ancient vignettes
emerge from recession
in myopic eyes, as fingers daub
scanty sketches
on a clouded film:

Well met faces laughing
in harmony
in smoke filled caverns
in laser lashed discotheques
in college canteens
in dashboard lit escapades
in each, and no other.

Nearly-new acolytes reaching
toward the light; hands
grasping flagons
clutching honours
wrenching buckles
cupping smoke;
or languidly clasping
a smooth nape -
casually committed
like curled up cellulose statues.

Each step, each falter,
each mundane breath
crystallised to a flake
and settled quiet
upon the bounding main.

We wonder how
this meagre, frosted crust
could bear us now;
our creaking boughs heavy
with old, glacéed fruit.

And yet, embedded within
there is a gelid rose;
a sugar coated blossom
bleached pallid
by the immaculate chill.

Nothing but,
or at least no more,
than a warm embrace
will free her
from her frigid reverie.

A chapped caress
will wake her;
release her silken filigree -
blushed magenta
in this monochrome starch.

These long, knowing fingers
will follow the fissures,
trace spidery words
etched on dusty paper;
seek the truth in lines carved
on a careworn palm;
smooth out the crow's feet
inscribed in thawing clay,
as neat black exes
hover in the bluing haze.