Players

The cards were cut

The dealings done

We hold our hands

Like the edges of

Sharpened skates

Carefully carving

Figure eights

On the icy drink

Of winter,

Barely breathing

Baited breath

Waiting for

What will

Happen.

A raven squawks

A woman walks

People gawk

Foreheads

Begin to

Dampen.

Stephen Nesbitt ©