When the Hard Hand of Winter

When the hard hand of winter clenches my body

and the garden green is shriveled in white.

When the cruel rain ices the night

and birds are silent

Your soft lamplight blossoms

On pillows smelling of spring.

And warm oceans of silk,

alive with your loving,

welcome me home

like a holy Tuscan wine

on a sunlit piazza.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s