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| It is as if the sky disrobed |
| himself before me of all |
| this futile snow. Like a lover |
| he allows me the simple |
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| pleasure of making my footprint, |
| of caressing his silken body |
| with a cool wet touch. This is |
| what I have in you: |
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| a mastiff that doesn't move, |
| a house that shouts from all corners |
| like an antichrist, and a clock |
| that reminds me every fifteen minutes |
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| that my skin will soon turn to leather. |
| Some see the grave with |
| jellyfish and coral reef. |
| I see it filled with passion and sorrow, |
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| a tower far and distant |
| untouchable as Rapunzel, |
| that sweet hermit with the golden hair. |
| My tomb is this house. |
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| It stills my breath and seals me |
| from the world of touch. |
| Even when my hair was short |
| you'd say, You're beautiful, |
|
| and wink your eye |
| and wave like a white gloved prince. |
| I let down my hair |
| and even the snow melts away. |
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