You saw me safe to stand on ice.
We touched the split shore, pried

smooth chunks to pitch across the lake.
It is night. We live in different

climates. Your whip-poor-will cries
more than mine will sing in a week.

This is the first time I’ve stood
on ice. Because of this I keep quiet.

We hear in this land between, not
north, not south, see us

we stand in the middle, the loud
shot, the ice breaks, but it takes

its own good time dividing.
In any other life I’d think

I was dying, while this certain touch
of toe to boot to solid ice

teaches me to trust the steady hand,
to walk where I never knew to think.

Dara Wier
from her book All You Have in Common
Used by permission of the poet.