Pond Hockey

The brassy toll of distant Church bells

on Sunday mornings filled with unbound play

mingled with hockey at woods edge

as we romped and frolicked on a cold day

There on frigid ice was pleasure

reflected in that frozen mirror

memories were etched deep in fissures

carved by elapsed hours and endless shivers

on pond ice that sparkled and glittered

while bathed in pure winter light

as steely blades cut and quartered

arcs and traces in bluish white

Still, those phantoms glide

during the dusk of winter days

and with joy gracefully abide

in memories that quietly lay

frozen in recalls of fearless youth past

when spirits high and frozen breath

joined loud screams and muffled gasps

that permeated games at frozen sunsets

We were at Heavens gate

and dared not leave the moment

for fear that on that day late

we would fail to receive this Holy Sacrament