*Whoa* That *Whoa*ing Ice

I fell on the ice.
Like a cartoon. Like a brick.
My elbow, waiting.

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*Whoa* That *Whoa*ing Ice

My Window Offers a Perfect Portrait of Winter Transgressions Covered

I am cold and soft
Unwanted some, beautiful,
though mostly: burden

I fall without light
to greet the sun and morning
Again, trampled on

Opportunities
to use me grow as I do
yet I feel a chore

Wishful, I breathe the
same air, but exist without
my own intention

I am called a touch
when I am more than nothing
And I love quiet

My Window Offers a Perfect Portrait of Winter Transgressions Covered