my ice pick slips. i skid
into the world of the open eyes:
the sheets in ridged peaks,
stinging with refracted snow
they seemed Himalayan
when i trekked in the night,
dizzy with altitude and aptitude.
did I tumble so far? is my body this soft?
does the ground truly resist with such grit
that I cannot stretch forward an inch
and arrive at the blue summit?
Read about my Year in Fragments challenge here.