Jade

There is a luster

to dreaming

as of light

glinting from jade.

Depth is

repressed,

a shallow pool

of solid ice.

An oval rink

lies frozen there,

awaiting

another lap, or

perhaps a spin,

in a world

that you know

but can only reach

from atop thin blades

of memory

and future

and fright

and wonder,

leaving life

jaded

by comparison.