Musings #11


Silk slides on skin, sleeves billow,

the air stands still.

It is we who are moving,

struck mirrored pose lengthened

in line and time

as blades cut through ice.

I always thought balance

was about the center of things.

Not so.

It is holding the sharp edge,

the inner and the outer,

leaning into the turn’s curve,

the risk of each other.