849. Untitled - June 14, 2013
It's a delicate edge to skate,
gliding between despair and the unknown;
it's the familiar pang of knowledge
that this time is like all the others
that preceded, and there is no real difference
between one extreme and the other.
In fact, the figures are now almost
second nature in its patterns,
and might be seen as an
effortless flight
over frozen tears
that give way just enough
to catch the pick
and pitch everything forward.
The air is cold,
and the ice rough against the palms
as everything rushes upwards,
a harsh meeting of flesh
against the surface
that has already been carved
by so many patterns.