The Linnet's Wings The Winter´s Tale, Ravens and Robins - Page 68

The Winter´s Tale of ice fracture, a shore-to-shore cracking underfoot, schismatic, a round of forgotten artillery; or my booted cutlery slashing lines on the sugar-white surface, crackling an electricity that divests thinly clad wire. I am on the pond after midnight and there is light. Clarity speaks on cubes of air. The wind has teeth for the back of my neck. Only my left arch is tired, and that from an accident once on a night moving lightless. What matters is I am not blind. Light comes in spheres, or long, thin lines, in the dusts we know of ex- plosions. Light is in the cold air sling-shotting pellets at my teeth. It is what first comes of darkness, and all the mercies we’ll ever know. 68