Sunday, January 18, 2015

February, 1974

February, 1974

Snow and ice.
You hold me,
then push me downhill
all the while
clutching my arms
so I won't fall.

Part of me dies,
goes to winter heaven:
young woman
in love
with danger.

Warm breath flies cold.
Am I the only one who dreamt herself
into myth?.

No comments:

Post a Comment