THIN ICE 



the unchartered, unfathomable distance 

 checked off every thousand million miles 

 or so by unnamed constellations that blur 

 into a milky way beneath your feet. The 

 pond is very deep on still winter nights. 



If you will take canoe and glide out 

 into the centre the illusion is complete. 

 There is no more earth nor do the waters 

 under the earth remain; you float in the 

 void of space with the Pleiades for your 

 nearest neighbor and the pole star your 

 only surety. In such situations only can 

 you feel the full loom of the universe. 

 The molecular theory is there stated with 

 yourself as the one molecule at the centre 

 of incomputability. It is a relief to shat- 

 ter all this with a stroke of the paddle, 

 shivering all the lower half of your in- 

 computable universe into a quivering 

 chaos, and as the shore looms black and 

 uncertain in the bitter chill it is never- 

 49 



