black iceI can’t help thinking about that patch on the road
spinning my car in a half-circle. How the trip home became
something else entirely in the flash of a second, the snow suddenly
ruthless, the truth sharp and irreversible, the wreck
bearing down in the dark. Perhaps there is no other way
we would have it. To anticipate loss is to unsee the million ways
the day is lit with voluminous fortune. The mint that settles our stomach.
The stranger who opens the door just before the grocery bag gives way.
An empty park bench resplendent on the city grass.
An unseen hand on our lower back, steering us from broken glass.