Snow rises as high as my windows. Inside by the fire
my chair is warm, and I remain compounded of cold.
It is unthinkable that we will not touch each other again.
As the barn's bats swoop, vastation folds its wings
over my chest to enclose my rapid, impetuous heart.
It is ruinous that we will never touch each other again.
Ten miles away, snow falls on your clapboard house.
You play with your children in frozen meadows of snow.
[Donald Hall, 'Ruins', from The Back Chamber]
my chair is warm, and I remain compounded of cold.
It is unthinkable that we will not touch each other again.
As the barn's bats swoop, vastation folds its wings
over my chest to enclose my rapid, impetuous heart.
It is ruinous that we will never touch each other again.
Ten miles away, snow falls on your clapboard house.
You play with your children in frozen meadows of snow.
[Donald Hall, 'Ruins', from The Back Chamber]
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