I AM the Iceberg

I offer the world a jagged crown of white,

A modest peak for the sun to strike and blind.

You see the salt-crust, the sharp, predictable edge,

The "hello" that freezes mid-air,

A polite geometry of ice against a restless sea.

But do not mistake the tip for the mountain.

(The Submerged Cathedral)

Below the waterline, I begin in earnest.

I am a blue-black architecture of compressed years,

Where memories are not felt, but preserved;

Hardened by the weight of a thousand atmospheres

Into a logic so dense it sinks through the noise.

Here, the light of the sun is a distant rumor;

I am governed by the slow, heavy pull of the deep.

(The Calculation of Cold)

Do not call me cruel; call me thermal.

I have calculated the cost of the storm

And found that the surface waves are merely frantic.

Let the hurricanes scream and the currents pull;

I do not drift with the wind's latest whim.

I move with the tide of Necessity,

A slow, tectonic slide toward a destination

That only the silent floor of the ocean understands.

(The Unseen Collision)

You see a stillness and call it peace.

It is not peace; it is a permanent readiness.

I am the gravity that breaks the hull of the frantic;

I am the silence that swallows the cry of the gull.

To touch me is to realize how much of me is missing,

How much of this "I" is a hidden, frozen empire

Of things decided long ago,

And kept behind a wall of absolute zero.

(The Final Thaw)

One day, the climate of the world will change.

I will shed my edges and return to the salt.

But until then, I remain:

Visible enough to be known,

Deep enough to be dangerous,

And cold enough to stay whole.