Head back, arms held wide
spinning across the glassy surface,
sharp cold searing sighs
cutting across each in-breath,
tiny crystal clouds escaping exhale,
not a person in sight.
Thighs ripple under restraint
muscles straining to break free,
toe and blade digging down
coordinated without effort,
a human icepick pushing
hard into the spin.
Wind kicking up clear crystals,
tiny tornadoes held tightly
in the embrace of milky white trees
barely visible against the darkening sky,
not a person in sight.
The skater’s waltz replayed,
remembering the times
moving across this pond, troubling
thoughts spinning in unison with song,
giving up to the pull of the moment
an invitation to grace.
Cutting blades ask no forgiveness,
raw power and reality checks balance
heart and mind against body,
two edges cut straight through,
a scalpel shaping the reflection,
carving a sacred space, punctuated
only by silence.