Waterfall in the Winter

I hear the stifled roar
Of engines idling beneath the surface,
A tongue of water
Shoots out from under the ice,
Flowing from liquid to solid,
Flatness to force,
Silence to noise,
Like particles of glass
Melting in winter light,
Sculpting curtains of ice
As stately as columns
(Building up and down,
At the same time,
Wearing them away),
Refusing to give in
To the deadening stare of March.