SIR HERDERP PRESIDERP SDO
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These are summers waking up in snow.
Look at the whitened sun.
All the violence has turned to calm
The sleeping green beneath my hand.
Speak to me though blizzards dull the sound.
In the midst of the solstice
Let me feel your hand.
Our ancestors would have raised
Their brows and cried:
There are no ice summers
No winters in June.
But here the winds are frozen songs.
Icicles drip to tear away the smile
Which frosted across your face
The only voice resounding
From an open door. You close the scene
To a comedy about to begin.
Nobody cares. You return the stares
Of wolves who go by your perfume.
I see no end in this drift.
Prints on the snow foretell
A long journey through a long white summer.
A dull premonition
Of a grotesque apparition
Of the hour to come.
Silence falls in flakes around you.
In the midst of a snowed-in summer
I turn to go
I turn as shadows turn
Around a bloated sun
I turn to wake
To shake my head
Against the dark
I turn the voyage
Without return.
Roll me a rock down the valley white
Roll me a rock to sleep under
Remember now remember
To burn the twigs and brittle boughs
To brighten the summer night
Of my departure.
