Beneath wide bands of ice,
the river hides, barely visible,
but when we come closer,
we can hear how alive it is,
playful as ever, babbling, rippling.
And somewhere in and around the water,
the stonefly larva keep moving,
the midges produce their own antifreeze,
the damselfly eggs diapause,
all of them adept at surviving the cold.
There are times I have wondered
how love survives, even when
we starve it, freeze it, offer it nothing,
turn our attention the other way.
Perhaps it adapts, as macroinvertebrates do.
Or perhaps it is more like the river itself,
persistent, singing as it goes, making its own path,
and all we ever need do is meet it.
