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.
A drift has formed on the bridge of your nose.
Every entrance will be an exit,
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.