43

               Winter Rain

I know: you cannot believe in spring.

And we are too bound by the together years

for me not to pause here with you.

I cannot help but cringe from your chill polarity where teeth

cannot gnash, frozen in speechless ice,

as I would deny the brazen pain you court,

flesh cleaving by fatal choice

to this cold, metalic death.

But most, looking in the mirror of your eyes

at the tentacled Gorgon quelling your calendar

to everlasting winter,

I must grieve your season-cycle fallen

thus to futile rain.