You don’t have to break it. Just give it a little
tap tap. See,
there’s the crack. And if you pry it a little
with the flat end of that spoon,
you’ll be able to slip yourself through.
To the woods where you’re walking. Crushed ice above you
like a layer of sky–
Some sun under it making it gleam.
Some snow under it bloodless and bright
in the fissured heart, the winter morgue of its imagined
more of Dana Levin’s poem Bardo at Salmagundi here.