so now nothing is left
but apples dry as blood
and traces of brown grass
under the frost that snaps
like consciousness, and we
are left alive once more

to face that emptiness
we are not ready for
this almost insane
and malicious emptiness
this sky, the clear stone
of winter, by ourselves

I tell you that before
the eating cold, we must
withdraw into the caves
and let the landscape fade
like howling, and withdraw
around that gushing heat

where what is hidden is
and we are more ourselves
can charm and sing, caress
our bodies, and withdraw
into the colored rocks
invisible with the spring

I tell you that together
with a dark exquisite
shivering, we must
withdraw into each other
in the long field of grass
and suckle of the sun

Last Modified 5 June 2007
© David Lyttle 1981, 2007