gold flashes of light through the fish pond ice

you can slip and land two eyes on frozen earth
and wonder what salt, oil and gravel tastes like
all thrown together,
but your tongue won't come out -
retinas roast, pupils protrude
and that dumb, ferocious muscle
lays still where it's warm.
Maybe presses against porous enamel,
but not too far.
Then you're dead.
And your legs are tattooed
with a motif to remind
that some things are still alive.
Then you're dead
because someone's windshield wipers
needed replacing
and the forecast was wrong
and a street lamp was out.
So while your eyes gazed
and your tongue wished to graze,
while the little neurons sent love letters
across synapses to eachother,
"do you want to start a life with me,
check yes, no."
noone decided it was time to go.
but it was
i didn't know.