walking in the snow The ice is hard and crunchy Like a nicely fried chicken fried steak, Air bubbles crackling as canines puncture The vaccuum, release secret sounds.
We’re walking on water. Water prepared for a wedding, All dressed in white and steeled with courage. Cracks in devotion quarantined In swaths of doubt, fault lines Interrupting a portrait of us strolling.
Our footsteps make icy towers Overlooking voids that leer back. Weight crushing air and steak, I walk First, my trail of precarious structures forming A network of bridges for companions To co-create architectural history.
My heavy weight falls into soft landings Voids fill with networks of bonds. Walking creates everlasting history. In our hands, ice becomes water.