ODONATA ON ICE
By William H. Funk, III
 

Just beneath the surface,

Wrinkled water sliding overhead

In a death-steady purl of glass,

You wait, arms outstretched,

For whatever the dead current brings

To sustain your impossible life

Another day.
 
 

Staring into the ice-bound torrent

At the spreading sheet of crystalline quiet

That creeps creaking from this rocky shore,

I’d seen you—

A bit of hungry life on a plain of death,

Anchored in the endless rush of

Winter river.
 
 

Your existence is everything

And nothing—

If you could think,

What might your feelings be

When the January night is realized,

And the universe

Slowly closes its eye around you?
 
 

#

WILLIAM H. FUNK, III is a freelance writer from Kentucky now living in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. This is his first published poem.