The gun was oiled, the chamber, empty,
and to prove it, you pressed the revolver
to my cheek, and click, click, click, nothing
happened. Birds shook ice from their wings
in the naked branches. Fishermen
cracked the surface of a frozen pond,
and when you turned the barrel to yourself,
I felt the bitter chew of busted teeth
in your crooked jaw, the metallic taste of light
driven down a steel line. The hammer struck
the firing pin. The cylinder turned on the pawl.
Click, click, click. And nothing happened.