I suffer strange sights
To lose themselves in words. How many times
I have blacked a snowman’s eyes
With two coals in my fists.
Not like a child, in anger,
But like a man bringing fuel to a cold house.
Nor is it his sight
I have plugged, cluttered, but my own.
Behold this gift
I cannot bear, O frozen image.
If I learn to kindle
These coals this deep winter
Look back at me.
I will keep you whole through fire
And each habitual season.
Leave a Reply