Amber of last light reddens.
Stony December has frosted the leaded glass.
The library fire has gone out. He kneels to light it.
The paper flares and catches.
Mimi.
Burning through every hour of his life
To a blaze that froze in Paris decades before.
Longer.
A knock at the door. Mimi.
Your hands were icy. You warmed them near my stove
By flames as frail against the bitter weather
As your shawl.
You shivered in my arms at the slanted skylight.
The hard moon bore down blue on the wooden floor.
In my heart the snow begins.
Briefly touched by belief we stood at the window
Looking down over the city, the lamps coming on.
I was ignorant then of how strong roofs had to be
To lift those masses of night away from the street.
When you dropped the key to your door I blew out the lamp.
I didn't want you to find it.
Chill metal. It's somewhere in my desk.
Festival memories ribbon through the mind
Confusing frost and music, pranking the square
With taffeta sleeves-showy green, crimson, gold-
Lifting to all of us tea-colored brandy in glasses
As cold as coins. And still upon the stars
Rang the unfading music of your name.
Mimi.
Happiness has no force. It was midwinter.
The ground was hard. The bright air ached with ice,
And even the daze and glitter of snowflakes falling-
The gentlest gesture heaven gives, I think-
Felt cruel. there was nowhere to go to keep warm.
We were shut out
By spiked iron gates and a wall of granite blocks.
Whatever I have or love came after that
And was changed because of you.
And you-your fire had gone out. Your hands were cold.