The music moves slowly
through her room. The girl is singing
about cold oceans. The song is dark and deep:
not like her. She doesn't know why, but she loves it.
Maybe it's because she's not a person;
she is really a piece of ice
on a cold ocean, floating
between sky and water. She worries
the ice might be thin.
She covers a small part of the surface;
the ocean below is dark and deep. Maybe.
The ice can only guess;
she never let herself look down
long enough to know.
She can't look up either,
it's too big; so she closes her eyes.
She thinks other pieces of ice slip
along her fingertips. They're all floating
beside each other, apart. Maybe.
