We fell through a frozen

gladness, the waxed cedar

slats abrading the glaze made

by a day's worth of fleeting

runs. Brother holding a brother

holding a brother, we blinked

through iced lashes

to see how far each

plunge might take us.

Day slid by, well into

night. At the pond's edge,

coffee cans twinkled candled

light. After each tall

fairway pine lunged up-

hill, and friction had forgotten

itself in our cold tumble,

we shook the snow

from our clothes like wet

mongrels. And on

the long climb back,

even what we thought

took shape somehow,

so that we saw it,

so that I see it now.

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