The staggering hiss and crackle of the ice beneath your feet
Is the same sputtering strain I feel in my chest;
The beat of the muscle contracting,
The beat of the muscle recedes, taking comfort in it’s nest

A phantom, masked,
The apparition of my past, taken aghast without reason taken into scrutiny, without heed
Inexcusably
Without the feud, or the fight
Or the chance at a bait cast

I stare stained glass in the face,
Unclear, tainted of a better day,
Unsure where the path lays
My spectacles unmovable,
I should take on eyes of the blind, but I can’t look away