In the absence of a proper entry

[tadorna]

Once, when the big lake froze from shore to shore
and you shoe-slid over its surface
(nobbled, sliced and powdered),
well, then the world was empty and diamond-sharp.

Once, or maybe twice or more

(all the years gallop together,
skitter and skirl together)

your breath beaded on the wool, damp
and itching, and you could hear it
boom around
inside your little skull.
There you were, under the feathered sky,
not really thinking.
Not really thinking at all.

Now, well...

Isn't it crazy?
That they'd let a child out on the ice,
mottled and half-rotten probably,
water leaking up around the danger signs.
Isn't that just crazy?

There are no frozen lakes.
And even if there were,
even if there were miles and miles of
white ice like a wedding cake. Even if.
No, you wouldn't step out.
You wouldn't dare.