How suddenly the usual measured motions

Skidded into stasis . . . every common path

Slipping into a stalled chaos, cars sliding

And spinning in an unpracticed ice dance.

Some few who never walk are walking now

As though they have forgotten how, relearning

With each tentative step how hard it once was

And is again to put one foot in front of the other.

The dark shops, windows curtained with ice,

The streets impassable except for the children

Who have left their caves like Arctic hunters,

Pursuing joy across the expanse of disaster.