“this cold opacity of days”

The Poem
This Inwardness, This Ice - Christopher Wiman

This inwardness, this ice,
this wide boreal whiteness
into which he's come
with a crawling sort of care
for the sky's severer blue,
the edge on the air,
trusting his own lightness
and the feel as feeling goes;
this discipline, this glaze,
this cold opacity of days
begins to crack.
No marks, not one scar,
no sign of where they are,
these weaknesses rumoring through,
growing loud if he stays,
louder if he turns back.
Nothing to do but move.
Nowhere to go but on,
to creep, and breathe, and learn
a blue beyond belief,
an air too sharp to pause,
this distance, this burn,
this element of flaws
that winces as it gives.
Nothing to do but live.
Nowhere to be but gone

The Beverage

Ice from my new tiny ice tray

I bought a new ice tray that I thought would produce ice similar to pellet ice, like from Sonic or the hospital. It doesn’t really, but it makes these really tiny tiny cubes, and I find them to be charming. The tray calls itself a crushed ice tray, but that isn’t accurate, either. In any case, I am enjoying these little bitty ice cubes. They are the opposite of the giant ice single ice cube of a craft cocktail, and that is charming. I bet they would be great in a margarita.