At sunrise the first shape past the shore
is a ragged, undulating grey line
could be the far shore, could be birds
shoulder to shoulder to shoulder…
then more light opens behind it
in squiggles, grey patches
open water
At noon, throwing rocks
along the ditch road
the water is still
mostly frozen between the cattails
The first rock makes a wet squeaking thwok
like bull kelp being rubbed against itself
The second a plaintive, flat, bitchy whack
The third skitters over dry snow,
cheap cheap cheaping
Into the distance like a sandpiper
The fourth starts a crack
and from the cattails,
trumpeter swans erupt
and fly
white as cue balls
their big wings picking up lift
Why compare them to cue balls?
One no more real than the other
All metaphors are a lie
This is like that, that is like this
and so on and on
like a dizzy, deceptive conveyor belt
This whole flat land is covered with rocks that
have blown and fallen from the top of Winter Rim
just lying here now
under the snow
blowing sideways before
hitting the ground
It makes me think of eider down
and thinking about this I put my foot
into a pothole, a jolt all the way up my spine
the wind roaring into my parka as my head turns up
shouting Fuck! into the sky
I startle the snow geese, rolling over the land
toward me, away from me
At the dike's end one ditch empties into another
an open plastic bag
of sesame sticks
in my hand
ducks bob in the current
the wind bends the dry stalks of teasel
eating
keeping warm
looking for a mate
that’s what’s going on here
I don’t know what it means, if anything.
the wind blows so hard my eyes tear
blows so hard I don’t care
what anything might mean.
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