You are the apprentice: strap
blades to your feet. Try the ice.

At dawn, at two, at eight, strike
out from lake-edge…

Set blades’ compass north
Shoot for the distant bank

where ice skims thin,
black water licks underfoot.

Some, they say, have shattered through,
drowned deep as night.

Remember,
there will be no moon. Strike

two matches: one
to hand, one to heart’s tinder.

Begin. See how close
the blade can burn.