Sometimes I look at the landscape and see this absolute thing,
crows and snow, all outlines and about to take wing,
and I am hard, as hard as I must be to survive this winter.
Sometimes I look out and see such abstraction, you can’t imagine,
all shades of grey under clouds, constantly in-motion,
dim and smooth, and I fall into the softness, the warmth.
You, you are something, somewhere, sometime in-between,
a warm thing surviving, grey and solid and sudden,
and I trust it, I trust you–absolutely. Soft and here and now.