A couple of days before the first snow, In a grey, cold country, I carefully trace Something like your portraits on the wet sand. I know: I’ll take a snapshot of them, Send them to you, but you’ll say “Burn them.”
Burn it all, set fire to your pain, Today, something more important has me.
I want to crawl, at least as a shadow, Down low - towards you and the huge sky, Where clouds fall on your head like bombs: Their strange version of a long-awaited spring.
But if you really don’t want anything - Though I was willing to mend the climate – Just say so; just tell me to “Go.”
Go away, that’s all, take your pain away Today, something more important has me.