Firestone

In the near dark I am frost-bitten,  
  glass beneath feet,  
   edging toward the edge,  
      a fallen robe, an inch more  
a heart thumping through a plump, chilling breast  
and yes, I knew it would come to this.  
Men hang on slate laid walls, watching,  
I tremble evermore into the liquid green,  
     glass beneath feet,  
         iced water to the waist,  
            basting the very external bones,  
and internally there's blood rushing as the mind absolves itself  
and revolves around the infinite loop of inescapable finality,  
as it quivers upon toes and fingertips screaming "Endure no more."  
Breaststroke from buoy to buoy,  
           a cormorant alights and dives 'longside.  
            the water causes it to brace.  
               It turns, returns, to the vivid yellow perch.  
The night is coming, it lingers on the setting,  
I turn in, still in my bones and head,  
a bed calling, the robe longing,  
tides on my side, easier on the in,  
the cold begins,  
          glass beneath feet,  
             out and in sliders, a robe,  
                  tow float flattened, keys returned.  
Golden is the enduring woman, blood thinned by the wintering sea,  
warm are the heaters, the cottage pie in the car, the nightgown,  
a relief is the reality once swam from  
and my love, my passionate truth, blessed is the glass 'neath my feet.