Cardinal, I entreat thee—
enough of your scarlet exclamations.
The land is bare, still.
I need more time.
Must you sing the frost
from every branch
before the light has touched it?
Soon the buds will split
and riot through these sleeping limbs.
The ground will soften,
give beneath my feet.
The nights will fill with music.
Someone will take my hand,
and I will want to lose my voice
among the others.
Let me keep a little longer
what the cold has spared:
the field unbroken,
the brook held in its glass,
the stillness I have almost
learned to live in.
One breath more
before the thaw.
But under the frost
my roots have already answered.