THE FEBRUARY POOL

THE FEBRUARY POOL

Beneath the glassy sheet of ice his body lies floating. His head is perfect still, close-cropped, unmoving. The winter has ended his abstract running. Dead eyes stare through frozen water, mirror the sky. He is safe. February winds will pass over The frozen pool, unruffled. Sleeping, he watches The distorted landscape of our suffering Like the child he will always be now; sees Only the unregarded winter moment of the death He ran towards eagerly, when familiar things became Strange and comforting, a choice forever beyond his choosing. Through the sudden ice he hears the distant words of angels; Sees, in the unexpected wonder of a blue ice sky, Their passing images reflected; soars above the ice; Joins them in their unrecorded flight; acknowledges, Reluctantly, his ultimate season with the dead.