In the snow
Or in the haze of a winter’s evening
Just when wind is coming over your dress,
You’ll ask to receive less
Than what I have ever offered.
For in the coldness,
You are quite like oldness.
Quite like without grace
Of an ill cat on the roadway
To some morsel or scrap,
To sate an appetite, so lifeless, yet so stirring.
Quite like what doesn’t want to move
Further into the sun,
You’ll then choose to run.
What may come
From you, when I offer something extensive?
The heart of mine,
And you’ll still cling to the meagerness
Of a thousand bits of littleness
Like that stray cat,
You are on a road,
A road, that is cold and lonesome.
And, right when I see the wind pick up your dress,
I see infernos raised to your breast.
I see the many and one things, you say you desire,
Not the oneness and one thing I wish to give.
Go on, then, to reach like cat and paws, to the ends of everything else.