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Ice Fires II 

     or 22° Halo                       

birds’ eggs are fragile and so flavorful

that the presence of both parents is 

necessary to brood, and thus mating is 

a requirement of nature – a yolk in an egg, a veil, 

a shell …

(and there’s nothing I can do)

the way I write the letter g says it all:

I elude attack with great assurance

but invariably fall into in the trap                                    

(a child needs round-the-clock protection too

though that’s not because of the flavor)

Never in my life would I dare go off this 

height, you said, yet you crawled in 

too-tight swimming trunks out to the brink 

of the pinkish-red board (which is my 

tongue) and jumped up and down a few times as if

to warm up before you let fly

after the great ice fires 

because you’re half-way under (I know 

you’re half-way under) I release 

my blue shark, watch him draw

a streak on the sea and 

because he is ravenous (that is my 

doing) he nips a piece from your thigh

– the very moment he rears his open 

maw again I call him home 

(you can never be too careful nowadays)

and the people, other people, skate 

on ditches and doubtful ponds

a child needs round-the-clock protection too 

though that’s not because of the flavor

one step at a time

on the tightrope, you say, heart

on the west, a handstand in the middle, 

firm your grip, bend                       

your back – a plane overhead, don’t falter – land 

on the tensed rope, stay calm, one 

step at a time on the horizon line

and you, lame as you are

the veins work free of the head 

and grow downward like carrots, says 

the doctor, for he wants to receive, to deliver 

me kindly, the child, the blue shark

– yet I can’t stop crying

we heard the rain begin on the radio 

and chanted the rhyme: ... send me down aid 

from the earth, a sword from the sun, sway from the moon, 

safety from the stars ... as we 

drew the magical diagram 

in sugar (but couldn’t remember the rest)

quartz veins and aqua regia says the anchorman

describing the search for gold set to happen 

this spring to 

wild applause 

despite the great ice fires 

the land is suspiciously bent 

as if stretched on pressure-treated rafters    

the work of some sort of magnetic thought (and we) 

will be sucked in 

the sea is rough, darker and blacker than 

the clearest sky and fiendishly silent, 

on the bank sits a man 

playing a grand piano, he rubs

bereavement the wrong way, I can’t 

stop agonizing

over all this sea passage and ask you 

to pass me 

the vial over the swell 

and then your lungs are 

half-full of water and there’s nothing 

I can do, they are clouds in the sky 

in the purple skull and there’s nothing

I can do

Fall Glacier, Side Glacier, Breech Glacier, 

Throat Glacier – as if someone 

grabbed the neck and squeezed - (and the people, 

other people, skate on 

ditches and doubtful ponds) 

(a child needs round-the-clock protection too, though

 that’s not because of the flavor)  

one step at a time 

on the tightrope, you say, heart 

on the west, a handstand in the middle, 

firm your grip, bend 

your back – a plane overhead, don’t falter – land 

on the tensed rope, stay calm, one step 

at a time on the horizon line (and 

you, lame as you are)

Fall Glacier, Side Glacier, Breech Glacier, 

Throat Glacier, I string gum balls on a 

taut thread and paint pupils on them

with a delicate brush because it’s been so 

long since I’ve looked into 

someone’s eyes upon waking

someone who knows 

let’s let our hair float on the water’s surface, 

let our lips bob in the churning salt, a flaming 

yolk in a fragile egg, so

flavorful that the constant presence (of everyone)

is necessary 

a fog obscures eyes burning

and ferocious – mist –  how I conceive

the concept mother, the dead-sure 

meaning deep down of having 

brought someone into this (declining) world 

and to be doomed to guard 

him always 

the earth is not an organic 

whole but a flaming yolk in an egg 

and “I bestow one final patronizing kiss”                

I’m quite willing to die but not from thirst 

I’m quite willing to love, clamber up 

a chimneystack and own a machine 

but not to keep silent

I’m quite willing to uproot moss 

but not to miss out on

appliances / timbre 

… Send me down aid from the earth, a sword from the sun        

sway from the moon, safety from the stars,

and strength from the angels of the Lord.

translation: Sarah Brownsberger