Vinter

A year up here is bisected
by icy monuments,
monoliths, cold and uncaring;

not uncaring, though, due
to love lost or unfounded, but rather as
a lesson in self-sufficiency.

The frost spreads its fragile prints
across the windows to deflect
the sunrise across the morning in living

spaces and vehicle cabs. Outside, where the cold
curls around our heads, the heat of our souls
is made visible in its pure white on the air;

and when the temperature is com     passionate,
and the flakes of snow coalesce
, we dance. Well, I dance, anyway.

The negative,
what is left after beauty has
defined itself, is

perfect, better than what
you have foolishly
dubbed beauty:

Look at the s p  a r  k l  i n  g
sheets of diamond thrown so diligently
upon our maternal bed, the centre

thereof made entirely of
EVERYTHING. A mattress, of sorts; not
too hard, nor too soft.