Saturday, September 29, 2018

skater ...



skater ...
the lines blur
the crisp, thick blacks
losing their edge
and bleeding into grey haze
before dissolving completely
to become white on white
and somewhere in this blind confusion
she sends crackling shards of ice
with every turn and pivot
into the boreal air
shaving scars in
the near-perfect surface
of a frozen pond
with glacial pirouettes
and unexpected leaps
defying gravity
sending her skyward
with the excitement
of freedom

and i am there
locked in the frosty remorse
of an onlooker
there where the tree line
cuts somehow past
the fading edge
of the horizon
and reaches skyward
to the hoary sun
where kamikaze snowflakes
drift once over the scene
and then ever so casually
collapse into tiny
droplets
of rain



 








 








 
 


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