Racing on Snow

Imbalance is the thrill tonight
above a blanket white and soft and cold.
The world enfolded soft

Senses shocked and numbed
freezing knees and palms
outstretched to hold. Nothing.

Air and sky of brightest black
reflects everything back but time.
A new world nebulous and benign.

Corners curved to softness never seen,
sharpness plays no part,
the crunch is not of skin or bone
but crystals forged in kilns cold.

We race on snow  as breath explodes
in painful gasps we laugh
grip hard at mirth and then collapse.

© Dave Kavanagh @

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