I was a fool in April to imagine
At winter's end an end to dangerous loving.
Given to doubt of any sudden vision
I could not trust the cold excitement rising
Through neurons, jabbing the rigid, lonely skeleton
When suncracked ice spun light about your striding
Over the frozen lake in the barren season.
Hard to your steps the quickened air fell ringing
As love broke with a solid, riving motion
Through lucid, rigorous bone, though I stood striving
Not to be struck by a winter made illusion.
But now, when the rainy spring is overcoming
The iron chill of winter, it has not taken
That stern excitement from me. And I leave doubting.
Love blazes at the center, cold and certain.