Crunch

It's a very specific feeling
Not quite chalky
Not quite gravel
When upon a frozen water mass

Bootprints
Ski track
And the frothy holes
From which fish are withdrawn

When the snow has blown
Layer upon layer
Such that when compacted
By booted foot
Both a sound
And a feeling
Emanate from the transient parkway

A trail bounded by river mouths
And land
Rather than a streetlike edging
And so one might wander
In every direction
Without gaining distance
To a destination

And yet

The subtle forces
Of inner compass
Lead the boot compacting
Toward points well known

On nearly straight lines
Oft along the sledging
Though steering far away
From the frosty breathing
Of fellow parkway traversers
And their canine companions

With that crispy narrator
The Zimmer or Williams
Composing a constant rhythm
Of crunch and compaction