After a month of cold walks, of standing
in front of the sharpness
of lake, unexpectedly, a realization.
Here, shuttering tents and reverent fishermen.
There is a dog — all hurried paws — savoring
slickness in the middle of the lake.
The sun is lowering its luminosity, composing
a horizon that highlights the cracking lines. Or
what I perceive to be the beginnings of a break
in the ice. I linger at the shallow edge, glittering fear
under my footsteps. Everyone is okay. Lately,
I’ve been projecting a lot. There is a narrow calm
across the proximity of these built domains,
an intimacy even: how, beyond, they watch
for each other, listening in solace. What I want
to recognize as closeness though is not permanence.
This whole spectacle will be gone
in a few months. All that I believe
I have seen will dissipate.

—Alecia Beymer

POET’S STATEMENT:
TWhen I first arrived in Madison, the lakes were frozen and a fierce calm and stuttering fear came over me looking out onto the starkness of ice. I remember touching my feet to the ice at the edge, gasping at the sublime ordinariness of walking onto a frozen lake. It felt indescribable and scary and exciting. All through the pandemic, I have appreciated my walks by the lake and observing the ecosystems that thrive there. There was something I needed to capture this day walking past the frozenness and the people -- something I'm still trying to put language to.

JUDGE’S COMMENTS:
The volta at the center of this poem is so memorable: “..glittering fear/under my footsteps. Everyone is okay. Lately,/I 've been projecting a lot..” We don't always need to know why a speaker in a poem is fixated on a particular set of visual details, but this poet tells us why and surprises us as it happens. That's hard to pull off. I also love the graceful way the title and final line allude to cycles: nothing is permanent, not even worry, not even a pandemic, not even winter. There is comfort as well as grief in the transience of our existence.