ice cries
Namaste,
Dreaming of ice a boy sawed crystals of clarity in a tropical kingdom. He saw but didn't see.
He stood in the back of a blue hyperventilation dumptruck with his rusty trusty bladed saw.
Blocks of ice disguised as solidified water were longer than a flowing, overflowing, flowering Mekong river feeding Asian lakes.
He unwrapped blocks. He sawed. He tapped a hammer defining worlds into melting scientific serious sections.
His friend loaded condensation on thin shoulders. He carried melting weight to a bamboo shack. He dumped ice into a waiting orange plastic box. A smiling women frying bananas over kindling gave him some money, Thank you for the cold.
Carver carved. Tap-tap-tap.
The woman assaulted ice with a hammer, shimmering blocks, refreshing beverages.
Ice blocks in shadows melted latent desire.
An old woman in pajamas sweeping dust heard ice.
Metta.
Nam iceman cometh.
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