ICE DREAM

Painting by Rebecca Belmore

You and I wait for a boat.

We do not know where we are going and neither does anyone else.

The water is cold you say, a treachery for blood,
I  stand  and dive  into   broken stars of floating  wreckage, 

 following those who have jumped before;

a woman and a child holding hands, a family.

You say nothing, as if goodbye has already been said.

A baby sinks,  orange life-vests blossom.  

From the  edge  of the jetty, you watch a  silence more  cruel than winter.

Ice grips my legs, my head bobs, eyes frost. 

Something draws me down.

 You know what it is – not a bitter sea – its gelid flesh, 

but the turning of a back.