Walks

The ice is slick beneath my feet
Except where it is topped with snow
But as I stumble up the street
I find, I think, I like it so;
I like the moment ere I fall
When time slows down and focuses
When I can catch myself or sprawl
Among the deadened crocuses
I like the opportunity
To let the dog pull at my arm
And if she should outmuscle me
Expose myself to sudden harm
But cushioned by the snow, to feel
The danger is not fully real.