This winter, when I had decided to learn to skate
But hadn’t yet tried it, I was worried about
How I’d know when everything was right I
The epistemological difficulty, of course,
Being how you’d know if you’d know it if you saw it.
What if, for instance, the perfect concurrence took place
Of balance and force, yet went unrecognized?
These doubts were foolish; I should have had more faith.
When you’re out on the rink, focused on your feet
And the press ofweight down through the blade to ice,
There is a moment when the skate first thrums like
A thing alive. It stops being slippery.
What had been perilous combat with gravity
Becomes grace in motion, and you, on edge,
Are delicately, indubitably upheld.