I dip my script pen in a blue inkwell
and slowly stroke curves and lines, letter
by letter, word after word, each flowing across the page
like a broad blue current seventy feet below
a glacier crevasse. Secured by ropes tied
by hikers, I rappel down frozen walls
to an ice ledge above the roaring torrent.
I dip a cupful, look up at the distant
patch of sky and my buddies, toast the cup,
drink the icy blue water, lips indigo, teeth
and throat Chilled. I wave, unhitch
rappelling ropes, strip, wave,
plunge into the current. I am blue.