Ice Skates

A taste for winter before it has neared. Like a taste, remembered by smell. Coats and scarves sitting alone, deserted in the summer light. Fingers stretch to feel the wool of gloves. Feet - free, running in the tall grass, Will soon break-in ice skates, Solid leather giving way to a practised grace. An icy reflection of breath harnesses time While the Black bears sleep their days away Rivers cease their roars, frozen under winters metallic torch.