The ground has changed its texture

from soft grass to treacherous ice

Shoes morph into skates

With these-I navigate my destiny

oblivious to the holes that yawn beneath

the surface

But still I skate

Guided only by a primal instinct –

hearing what the wind whispers

seeing dusk before dawn

smelling my fear before she awakes

tasting acrid danger on my tongue




on thin ice

©Vivian Zems

Poets United- Midweek Motif- Vigilance