We throw so much of ourselves
into the river, it’s almost cliché
when the ice shards break free
and give way to the force of the current.
It feels so cathartic witnessing
this display, we can’t help gushing
to one another about the river,
just this Sunday plates of ice;
how in the space of three simple days
the course has come alive, brown
and snarling; how every little thing
we give it, all our attention,
gets gobbled in its hungry mouth
and downstream spit out.