He was walking that morning
before dawn. It was 24 degrees,
with a tight wind that
wound round his head
and brought him tears.

He was planting his feet carefully,
small steps to find the rough
patches, watching for black ice 
placed like a joke you
could laugh about because
you weren't going to fall for it.

We stand to walk. Oftentimes we fall —
for sleep, for dreams, for love's sake.
Falling and falling, again and again.