Bearing death a great distance,
ice invades the towns, the withered landscape
an abandonment of wolves.
Visionaries drink from a saint’s
bathwater or suck the pus
from a leper’s sore
to cleanse the world
of Satan’s lean hours.
Savage winter ruts the farmland,
furnacing the air with a crystal storm
till the canal shatters and the streets
fill with limpid gold.
Frozen birds fall from a groaning sky,
the wind mocks lifted hammers,
preens its deadly skirts
before their powerless blows.
White and white from tip
to shallow, from deepest well
to cold heaven, tiara fringed with stars,
ice upon the stairs
befuddled with the thump
of black gowns, clockwork prayers
winding round a fowler’s
rude cough, a dream of snow
and bellowing bears and snow.
Our Lady uncrowned with revelation,
the seven wounds unbathed;
bitter enemies reconcile
and forgive and the cold holds
till May morning.
After the cold brute
the pallid light throbs blindly,
snow hurling on the mountains.
Shaken earth re-erupts. Under
pale sky the whitening sea blasted.
Gathered a full twelve months
the unexpected season heaves,
broken gold longs meadow,
chill fire rules air, the worm
brooding the slow warmth.