Waking to soft flakes, silver morning, enough snow for my morning ski. Step, glide, I go to the river, the snow is not deep. It's enough. I am revising a poem I brought to my Monday night critique group. It's good. Is it good enough? Our leader, whose opinion I trust, says he is of two minds: "Send it out. Or, first, try changing this. . ." And, of course, I want to pick the second way, the seeing if I can write it better way, because I don't want it to be good. I want it to be as good as it can be. And so, today, I will try this –

But, this poem is made of wings and ice, fear and falling. I want this poem to be so much, by changing it, I am afraid of breaking it.

All photos and text copyright Kelly DuMar, 2018