I will learn to write
as I have learned to ski—
facing fears,
enjoying the motion,
finding my rhythm
practicing form,
using my senses
to navigate terrain.

I will focus on this moment,
on the imperfect turn,
the next word choice.
Clean lines seam the snow,
create space for my storyline.

I long to write as I have learned
to love, through tears mingled
with laughter as I lie
in the snowbound ordinary
moments of my life.

I want a craft that will swell
my heart, make my poem
cry out — a fervent prayer,
a plea for mercy,
as night begins to fall
and I make my last run.

Once I learn to ski,
I will write about my love
when I long for his lips,
I will write about myself
as I disappear into the mirror,
I will write about my creator
and grow humble.

May words be my light,
beckon me to cross
with care, reveal
the sheen truth leaves
on every white space.