Winter's Bending
Winter, how she bends
And summer, she sends a sky
Over the hedge to kill
The last remaining frost-speckle
Of cold, ice branches,
Dead for a season but not next.
This is my autobiography
Written in reverse. The death of
Happiness, which is
Sadness in reverse. Before the sunning
Of faces and places
There will be familiar memory traces
Of swimming and singing
And taking tea with me under the veranda tree.
This is the death of winter
And the oncoming sun is too much for me to bear
So I shrink back to the season of snow
And rest with icicles, my friends who melt
Into other seasons to be absorbed
By green.
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