The Widowski Wyileski
goes for a walkski
in the January cold
the sky is bright
blue and sun crisp
on the iced river shore
the thin snow packed
down by uncounted boots
shines slick even in shade 

She walks briskly
through bone deep cold
her poles propel her fast
and steady imagining
with ease the glide
her boots cannot provide
—oh for skis
on which to slide—
so she walkskis
debating the differences
between this locomotion
and a ski walk:
a walkski can only
become a walk
whereas a ski walk can
pick up the pace
so she flies gracefully
across the snow and fields
through the woods
up and down the hills… 

a walksi cannot
so take off
transform into the liquid
motion of swimming
on top of snow
through ice cold air
reveling in one’s body’s
generated heat
even as one’s fingers snap
poles back and cheeks glow red 

a walkski can
nonetheless
be swift
intensely
satisfying