I think about you every day
and somehow they pass as if the seasons never change,
and yet suddenly it's been three months
since the world first awoke.
Now the moon pities me in its frozen air.
But, just like me,
the leaves still cling on desperately to their dead branches,
still, cold limbs that shudder in the wind
were once blooming with that same honesty
as the colour in your cheeks and the caution on your tongue
and under the snowfall's heavy blanket
lies buried a breath of air, a lover's soul
that twists and burns snow-blindness into my eyes
such that I forget
the possibility that your affections have faded like the summer.
And so the robin flies away
when winter's had its day.