The Winter Lake
Did I not say the lake would sing to you?
Not say it’d warmly hum? The music’s there –
you have to listen soft, my sweet, lakesoft.
Press against me, tenderly I’ll caress your hair;
press snug against me, let the warmness sleep with you.
This lake is made of warmth, tonight;
yes, coldness too — the exiled cold of chilled starlight,
bitter like the glare of harsh and narrow eyes.
But what is heat, my love, without the cold?
Ah, you shiver for the heat, which I supply.
It draws us into tight and hugly love. I feel
the tender, beating life, your heaving breast and heart,
inhale your sleepy warmth that makes the minutes yawn,
your restless cold that keeps us pressing, loving on!
