The cold that is loneliness–
Ice, snow, hunger.
Did we care
The days had shortened?
Dark mornings,
Dark afternoons,
We stumbled, it’s true,
But don’t we all stumble,
Slide on the ice–
A dangerous toboggan
Of metal and glass and rubber
Just sliding,
sliding, sliding.
Where will it stop–
Against a sign, a bank of snow,
An oncoming car?
We turn the wheel
Left, then right, then left
And tap on the brakes,
Hoping they will catch
Onto something solid.
My love, turns out
You were the solid thing
On which I caught.
