One day, I went on more than a two-way trip stumbling beyond to something more permanent, packaging my hopes and frailties, fragments of my life. Behind, the past, well-worn gestures, alleys and smells; which tumbled on in nostalgia and occasional glances. I was not turned to salt, although my tears internal and external flowed as I skated on, over the fissures, the ice a crackly discoloured messy patina covering the ocean below --- Oh when did my identity start to shatter splashing in throes of newly-found dances as the surface split and down I slid? When, halfway or somewhere in-between I looked back – or was it up, or down? – and the start looked strange and the next point of the race seemed more familiar.
