I blade 
on ice
quietly carrying 
one above 
smoothly across 
sometimes straight 
though frequently 
in circles 
no more 
than brush
dipped in 
paint broad
or thin 
creating art
on a
frozen lake 

Something tells me
something always does 
oh if I 
could date something 
we’d be happy 
they’d tell me 
what I would 
need to know 
never giving me
any bad advice 
for this something
is my very 
voice of reason 
something sometimes is 
a villain sometimes 
something’s a lover
but always something’s 
part of me 

And finally 
I hear
my own 
heart beat
and I
think that 
I remember 
the first 
when promise
beat too

Like a boy
on a bike
I have climbed 
yet another hill
and I wait
looking around looking 
down looking over 
and out from 
up here before 
I go pedaling 
and soon too
my feet like 
my hair are
set free it’s 
I and wind
and that’s all 

I am jar
empty of things
absent of purpose 
but am I 
or rather might 
jar be jar
and the space 
occupied by others 
is not purpose 
but occasional pleasure 
being empty and 
holding that hollow 
space as hallowed 
enough for me