From John Chambers:
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Ice-out I thought I was keeping a close eye
Each day inspecting thickness
Gauging the days until ice-out.
Sixties some days, below
Freezing some nights
Parcels of shoreline peel away
(Not our dock, mind you
Shadowed by the elderly white pines)
But a three-inch crack appears
From the swim dock on the point
All the way to the island
And another, along the shoreline
Twenty feet out
Straight as a surveyor’s transit
Then torrents of rain
Puddles atop the ice
A mist that holds the island aloft
Chased by bursts of sun
Our dock unlocks a bit
Though the sheet still grips the bay
Another week, I predict
Only to wake surprised
By ripples from the north
By lapping water
By ice-out.
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