Black Ice Life

		Where did this patch 
			of icy time
				come from,
			as I walk through
				my moonlit life?
		There is nothing
			to grab onto,
				no purchase,
			as I careen wildly
				through menacing silver shadows,
				harsh, impenetrable fingers
					with unvoiced accusations
		I slip,
			from one treachery 
				to the next,
			carried by the momentum
				of guilt,
					unfulfilled desires,
						and missed opportunities
		Can one find
			salvation 
				along the black ice?
			Or, is it just
				a mirrored illusion,
					the reflection 
				of our own
					wishful thinking?
		Is the cold, stinging, 
			breath of reality
				merely 
					the laughter of the moon?