under the ice

the boy is under the ice.
he's gone.
they can't find him.
he's under there somewhere
blue as blue can be.
his eyes are open.
as if still looking
for air. the cold
has crept into his bones,
the weight of his filled
lungs sending him
to the bottom,
no longer
laughing like he did
while he skipped
across the deep pond
for others to see.
his fingers bled,
they will say later
this spring,
as he scratched at
crystal roof of white
trying to get out,
trying to get back
his life. people will
come back in time, lean
against the new fence
and point, and say
there.