While the trees still stand,
As the wind enters
To quiver the leaves.
While Winter dies on a slope
Where the faintest glimpse of warmth
Peers through the final frost,
As a babe through its mother’s shawl.
While love holds a candle
Within hands, that do tremble
As leaves in the stain of Autumn.
While summer heats
For the lust of lovers, entering deep
Through waters, to find centers
Of pleasure, in everything caught.
While blood becomes lost
From lips, from the virgin’s melting form,
As a sculpture of ice,
Graceful in all carved aspects,
Nuptial by the beads of her sweat
Poured as rain to her breast.
While tears become lost
From hands, that shielded the face,
Lost in grief, as was the taste
Of a heart, parted by presence,
To a grave, a reminder to absence,
Back to the heart, asleep in the grief.