I walk on the ice of my pleasures
I walk between miracles and confusion
I walk inside a rose
—Adonis

I’m making my way over ice not a cool
slick foot thick hardened slab that keeps
drowning inaccessible but these jammed
broken chunks floating in the air of metal
gray running water the soles of my feet
stabbed by this frosty jagged ground
they’re shouting at me the trees they lean
against stand bare branched and silent I hate
that I’m here that exhaustion will compel
me to something more reasonable
the river’s dark depths call to me
and if my inflamed rage could be heat
that warms my skin and melts this ice
I would sink through and swim with this
ribbony body along pebbles until
ocean until the sound of salt until
I am washed and lifted wave
by wave onto sparkling sand