I’m done with soft snow falling
on the battlefield;
the symbols that make nice
with senseless dying.
My love, I need you desperately.
The branches of dead trees
scrape the darkened windows.
My love, I need you now.
l
I call to you,
I call to you:
the child,
the children;
the moments we were so alive
and without thought.
The magic of moments;
the curtains that moved with the night;
the curtains that promised all fear
and protection at times.
The witch and the teeth
and the moments of praying.
The gathering night
and the magic,
so fearsome and true.
ll
The well-used deck of playing cards;
the crease that [...]
Her hand in my hair and
our bodies now
slowly drifting apart,
while Chet Baker plays,
she says:
we love like the dust
and the hairline
cracks
in old mirrors.