And the hillside pulling down this snow

And the hillside pulling down this snow

--more dirt is needed, the dead

brooding how these flakes stick

how useless was their blood and wings

--it's impossible to breathe, your name

like a cold bit in my mouth

and I hear the snow too --this close

nothing but our names

and the sky is drained as if marshes

or swamps or the heart

where suddenly there's no more rain

nothing to freeze or melt

or cry yanking my mouth

--all you can hear

is my side to side without moving

or stomping my lips on the snow

or even this tree whose leaves

when they are wanted most

--nothing will warm this snow

or my still damp cry on its way

through the Earth.