I look up through the ice

as if to paradise

      to see the moving shape entranced

      in the opening of a skater's waltz

     and the welcome dance of death.

The ice gives way

I feel the shock

      the break of day

      the deadlock of plunge

      of heart's distress.

And then I see the gash

from above

   how dark it is,

   how weak the sun

   how temporary

like a spider's web

is beauty when

on the loom of despair

 

such tales are spun.