Richard T. Rauch lives along Bayou Lacombe in southeast Louisiana. Rick manages rocket propulsion test projects at NASA’s Stennis Space Center by day and writes by night. His poetry has recently appeared in Neologism, Plainsongs, Steam Ticket, Valparaiso Poetry Review, and Wimperbang. THIN ICE Archangels descend in glorious white, swinging their hips for us with a vengeance. We find ourselves dumbstruck, trembling, prostrate with fear. Our tears stream and puddle¾the warmth of our sudden lamentations, a mixed blessing to those of us backsliding on thin ice, too far from the silver linings of the shoreline. We are shivering silhouettes, transfixed by frozen starbursts of growling cracks melting against us, radiating away. “Where are the gilded wings to lift us?” we ask. We grow weary of speculation. Our shivering stops. Our last image, an icy-blue halo, as we gasp the numbing waters at last. WRANGLING WHYSWe ride
a whim woefully roaming a wild wickedly wonderful wide-ranging wanderer waiting in want of awe wistfully wrestling with why for a while. For wonderment awakens within a wish of why, and why is the way we wrangle this whirling world on which we wait.
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