Crossing Evening

The skater’s never fast enough.
Even when the outline is clear,
The edge of the shadow almost
Already a sketch of itself,

Even when the moment lumbers
Like an attraction in a zoo,
Going nowhere, only shifting
Its stance as it chews through the hay,

The skater can’t be fast enough.
The infinitesimal edge
The blade occupies has shifted,
Slightly, yet again, so begin

Another sketch of the border.
The futility isn’t lost
On the skater, who is counting
On the impossibility

Of illustration, no matter
How speedy the illustrator,
To sketch the more important point.
Changes are real. Divisions aren’t.