Equinox Ice

Pocketed, wrinkled, cracked and fractured
the Equinox Ice on Lida
curses the dawn with moans and grumbles.

The pain is audible
at times piercing like a bullet
at times rumbling like thunder
at times like a car bomb in the Green Zone.

Old like me,
my dog sits on her haunches
as we gaze
at the laughing stars above.

Ears on point
she too
listens.

We have heard the forecast.
We know our days our numbered.
All we hope for is a painless metamorphosis
To liquid
To dust.

No piling up on the shore.
No collateral damage.
Too heavy to float any longer
just let us sink and melt away quietly
under the light of the Milky Way.

Then,
after we are gone,
turn up the wind.

Let this winter,
and this war,
end.