Under construction

Ice-ridden river

Match-making in shared moments

the winter’s broken promises

feel so effortlessly serene.

There is a rapprochement in

the submarine sun, submerged

and safe as a summer sonnet.

But unwieldy and withered

like grandma’s warm hands,

one hour grasps another.

So, I chuckled to myself,

author and beneficiary to

my own private joke.

And, with trickles and trembles, 

thoughts crawled impatiently beneath 

the ice-ridden river.

Maybe this is a good time

to tell this pen of disconnections

requiring a poet’s attention.

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