Like Ice
What is it about some people?
As I’m leaving his house after a convivial visit, my host, an old friend,
stares at his shoes
and mutters,“I can’t see much good ahead.”
Is he Cassandra? Or yesterday’s news? Does he mean to be saying
he’ll help out? Or opt out?
“There’s always good,” I reply, meaning the sooner the better—
however one defines
or embodies the Sublime, it would be better if it arrived pronto.
Before David, intent on a mission he’s forgotten, wanders off into the woods.
Before he shivers to see daylight wane and an undefined darkness slur
along the window glass.
Before I’m so glad means I just do as I’m told.
“You think you have it bad,” another friend quipped, too quickly, then
pulled herself up short—
“and you do.” I don’t recall what she said next. With practice, one can
simply watch as an agony, like ice in warm liquid, dissolves without
altering the level in the glass.