couple of days before the first snow,
In a grey, cold country, I carefully trace
Something like your portraits on the wet sand.
I know: I’ll take a snapshot of them,
Send them to you, but you’ll say “Burn them.”

Burn it all, set fire to your pain,
Today, something more important has me.

I want to crawl, at least as a shadow,
Down low - towards you and the huge sky,
Where clouds fall on your head like bombs:
Their strange version of a long-awaited spring.

But if you really don’t want anything
- Though I was willing to mend the climate – 
Just say so; just tell me to “Go.”

Go away, that’s all, take your pain away
Today, something more important has me.