-watching the olympic figure skating competition on television-

say what you will of initial motion;

without inertial motion it would

only amount to a sickening thud.

costumed in powder-blue, skating backward

across the icy rink gaining speed, she bends

forward for the power she needs then leaps

from the ice, closing in on herself like a neutron star

spinning in space then nearing the landing she thrusts
a powerful leg backward while the leg reserved for ice, bends
gracefully at the knee preparing the skate, also reserved for ice.

but then

at the critical moment of contact,

her ankle yields under her weight, she loses control,

and falls on her butt and here’s what happens next:

she commits herself to momentarily glide across the ice

in the beauty of inertial motion.

the crowd sighs along her way.

poor child, they sigh as she glides across the ice

smiling softly in sweet resignation like a hero doomed at the wall.

her arms search for balance through the unresponsive atmosphere,
gliding there, gliding over ice,–– her legs make an abstract

cadence through the emptiness of nearly an entire lifetime of effort,

her powder-blue butt, frosted in glistening crystalline particles...

4.2 / 4.3 / 4.0 / 3.9 / 4.4  is a cruel arithmetic,

and not nearly high enough for this observer.