eyes fixed
on the black disc,
a dot on a white
surface,
digesting
the suggestion,
to discover,
what it is to play.

stick in hand,
head up,
eyes drink in
the frozen surface,
bodies moving,
gliding, striding,
each action a demand
to play.

everytime your stick
touches the ice,
it leaves a line or
a trail, giving not away, the intent,
but the chill thrill of the play,
about to happen through,
creativity sharing by passing,
a dot, a disc, proof of play.

skate blades carve and cut, finding,
that fine edge of traction attraction,
control is the mirage, as the ice steam,
rises to a fog hardly noticed,
among the players of the game they,
all adore, one cuts in front, takes the pass,
he shoots, He Scores!,
All because he kept his stick on the ice.


©DWE032014