A night of perfect winter darkness
Black terminus ethereal, flakes blow, caught
In murky winter half light up
A gentle howl
A cracking of branches
And a gentle sssshhhhhhhh
Stars above.
And in this night
A frozen over pond, tucked deep in the woods, high in the mountains.
Woman skates about it in perfect frozen circles
Sssshhhhhhhh of razor blades on glass
A new circle.
And beside the lake is a cabin.
A burning fire in its hearth
Gloaming light fighting ignoble
(winter’s black onrushing future)
It is a cold night.
The woman sees her breath.
And she feels something stabbing into her bones.
She skates faster.
She has been skating for a long time.
Her heavy winter clothing runs ragged.
The deep cuts she has incised into the pond will not heal.
With each revolution, her circles grow tighter.
Her face is tired.
She skates faster.
Her eyes are green with flecks of gold.
So many people fallen unto them, trapped inside
Clawing at the surface just below the ice.
And inside that cabin
Above that burning hearth
Are a history of years and faces
Caught in a melting snowflake.
Fade to black.
Fish, great big ones hung and dying.
Smiles.
Summer dresses.
A young couple kissing and holding each other by the edge of the lake.
Christmases.
Whole place has the faint smell of dead Christmas trees.
Her circle’s radius diminishes further.
She has been skating for a hundred years.
She is all wrinkles and lines.
Her clothes are turning to dust
Her tears freeze in her cataract clouded eyes.
She skates faster.
Her circles tighten.
Far off a wolf howls. A pack of wolves.
Snow begins to fall, slowly.
She skates faster.
Her circles tighten.
Snow begins to thunder down.
Little revolving galaxies.
The stars falling with them.
The fire in the hearth is almost out.
She draws her arms about herself, as her breaths glass over and fall to the ground.
She is naked now, wrinkled flesh and bones turning slowly to ash.
Her circles so tight that now she is a figure skater
A hundred turns on blade’s tip,
A roaring crowd
The snow is so heavy she can hardly see her hands in front of her.
The fire is dead. The cabin is just a wreck of forgotten logs.
The ice on the pond is ringed with perfect circles.
And then the snow falls so hard that all the world goes white.
