Floe
Duck-walking on sheets of ice,
only the sky just above my lips is melting.
I move forward by counting the parked cars.
A bundled-up woman I knew from last winter waves at me,
she is way across a slithering street.
She was in service in Vietnam, she nursed,
this part of her I remember only.
Her weathered face underneath her mouth-covering scarf
is hidden today.
There is significance in this numbing landscape.
The road keeps sliding forward until it forgets us.
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