The thing about the middle of the winter is,
it chases you, erases you, displaces your relation
to the simplest things – its wings beat rivulets
of freeze into your spirit’s unconsidered ease –
it finds the vault and turns the key – unlocks
humility – you see you are as vacant and as old
and cold as any light-year through unanswerable
space: it is a taste of cosmos from which youwill never quite recover. It is a memorable lover.