I know not how you lie....
The winter grows old and weeps its white lead
Do you remember dead trees and quarrelsome magpies?
Still, the earth is tired, and tired every day
The loathsome kill of frosty betrayal
Makes the bones ache and the tiny green roots
Tucked far below long for new days
Unburdened days
Shall I write a bittersweet memory?
Would your stone carry your weight in anectdotes
Half forgotten on pages of time
Countless hours you spent in bed before getting up
Yet I was the same... huddling in my own warmth
Those mornings, we never thought about them
They happened, and there was nothing more to them
The moonlight showed through the blinds
Of the window,
But you had forgotten them by now
What could I recall?
Birthdays run together... Camping trips
That wedding
I look down and my paper is still empty
There is a red blotch on my face where it rested
'Gaist my closed and clammy hand
But the pen has bled no ink for you
It's cold outside... And because I know
You do not share this day with me,
I am cold inside as well
