Cold Shard

A dense cube of clear ice lay stranded on the kitchen floor. Cold. Geometric. I dropped into a wide crouch on the ceramic tile. My secondary hands flattened against the grout to lock my footing. My primary hands clamped the cold block. The surface offered zero traction. It slid from my grip, gliding along the smooth glaze with frictionless momentum until halting against the cabinet baseboard. Cold water pooled beneath its flank. A solid that bleeds into liquid under midday warmth. I pressed two fingers against the diminishing facet, tracking the thaw.