Number 25: stand between seasons
You come back,
after my three-month night,
as I knew you would, like light, light.
And though it is summer's height,
sexy with thunder, rainy heat,
you talk of snow.
It is gathering now,
packing the freight of itself
into clouds, faraway clouds,
miles out at sea,
crying upwards into the black sky;
each flake unique, that will fall on us, as we kiss,
or I tell you the poem by Louis MacNeice,
The room was suddenly rich . . .
Snow by Carol Ann Duffy
(Because I love, in winter, to see spring in the sky, and I love in summer to think of snow, and I love in the autumn to see the spring turn itself inside-out; I love that every season has every season folded inside itself.)
after my three-month night,
as I knew you would, like light, light.
And though it is summer's height,
sexy with thunder, rainy heat,
you talk of snow.
It is gathering now,
packing the freight of itself
into clouds, faraway clouds,
miles out at sea,
crying upwards into the black sky;
each flake unique, that will fall on us, as we kiss,
or I tell you the poem by Louis MacNeice,
The room was suddenly rich . . .
Snow by Carol Ann Duffy
(Because I love, in winter, to see spring in the sky, and I love in summer to think of snow, and I love in the autumn to see the spring turn itself inside-out; I love that every season has every season folded inside itself.)