in drifted snow
a small flower seemed to shiver
cast by wind and white
[I think it felt the grip of cold
and yet it reached for sun]
through the too short day
into evening as I passed a window
then it was in a near-full moon
and night winds that brushed petals.
One fell-a droplet of summer-
a ghost of August,
shed rain drop, red upon white cotton.
It did not shiver more
but leaned close to falling too
as if it knew, was time to rest in an easy bed
[as a seed speaks of winter]
as when
I lay my head on your breasts
and kissed your skin, once for passions
again for remembrance; to glow
in flowered nights and warm shivers, as winter
lay soft upon fallen petals of love
