Icefall

The hard colour,

ribs of slow shivering

and glacial stone

It does not  move,

such a still and unshakable presence

as if time rested a while,

a breath to take in winter

It is unmoving for the eyes,

for the senses that become ice-bound

and arctic

I could not move my boreal limbs,

no will to look away

It wanted me to know its presence,

its moment

But how could that be?

And then the ice broke away above me,

fell, tumbling shards – a sound of beads

on a tile floor

Then I knew what is existence,

what is a moment

Nothing lasts - snowflakes die in the wet streets

and the sun bursts above the horizon

 in a singular instant for Chris Hadfield

above the Earth

Nothing lasts

Nothing lasts but the awareness

of ice and the thawing days