If you release the piece the board will be played.
Is it the queen or your fingers that tremble? It’s been snowing
since dawn. If you loosen your grip the lady will turn,
a stranger in a revolving door. Every entrance will be
an exit, A drift has formed on the bridge of your nose.
every exit a mortal wound. You wipe it clean
before you go. A dismal choice, black as crow,
your banner and crest. A flurry or two will erase the tracks.