I’m sure, now, how to think
of slivers that shine stillness
in my river, moving faster:

When the river’s glass, it’s
my light returned to rest at
home, in childhood, forever.

Though also in this glint of
ice, the image of my final
stroke—mirrored ever after.

~~ ~~

In glint of glassed silver ice
I see the mirror of my body
as I saw        once my body,
               as
will see        once my body:

Fluid as the water is, fluid
         as the water is.