Ice Skaters

Racing down the glacier,
I've been monitoring the spot to my left for days now
Moving at the same velocity

I haven't seen life for some time,
no polar bears, seals,
an icebreaker chugging across the pole
and I'm unfazed but it all...

the speed is what keeps me alive
the blinding white from every direction

somewhere in the frosted air
I lose that mark and I continue the down hill descend

The glacier is rougher at this spot,
uncharted territory

When she appears,
(her hand exactly where it is suppose to be)
we touch, synchronize our speed,
our gait, our movements

We never forget the choreography
the sequences are the same
our revolutions, mirroring each other
are perfect, but whose watching,
where are the judges and cheering crowds
on this river frozen since pre-hysteric times?

Most of our skating is solitary, unprofessional, uneven.

but our direction has remained the same,
crossing paths unevenly and unpredictably
over the last 27 years
if only for a short time to continue the routine:
the beautiful choreography that is instinctual
without practice, without speaking.