On an Iced Handrail

Sunlight coruscates the ice and glitters,
turning the chipped, green handrail to a ray
of emerald only on display in winters
and only on a morning like today.
He reaches for the rail then pulls away
and leans on nothing to descend the flight
of slippery concrete stairs, as if to say
that he would never trust a thing so bright,
that peril veils itself from sight behind delight.