He skates onto the ice,
Scarred from previous performances.
He goes around a couple times.
They announce his name.
“Jason.”
And then the music starts.

It moves with him,
Him with it,
And he moves, jumps, spins, breathes.
Twirling in infinite circles.
Defying death with every leap.
He fears nothing.
Not even failure.
He falls too, of course.
Twice.
But somehow, that doesn’t matter.
What matters is the energy, the motion.
The music as beautiful as the clean ice,
Written upon with his skates as the music is changed by his dancing.
It is pure movement.

And when the music reaches its crescendo,
When the invisible wind blows his long hair back,
When he spreads his arms out at the peak of energy,
And everything has fallen into place,
And the perfect performance is complete,
And the crowd is on their feet,
And his face is glowing like a thousand Sochi suns,
And the music cuts, he is left on the ice,
Arms outstretched, like he is holding the world,
And he looks up to the sky, and says,
“Here I am.”
And for a moment I can forget
All the hatred,
All the fear,
All the politics,
Everything wrong with the games.
Everyone is just there.
Realizing what has happened,
And cheering.
Don’t cheer for Russia. Don’t cheer for America.
Cheer for the world.
Cheer for Jason.