and chaste, lovely as lakes to the retired men
It's snowing, it's returning to a town
I might have happily lived some other childhood.
Beneath the snowflakes I notice façades
Dreaming time has reversed—and you,
Your red cheeks radiant against the wind,
And off the white smoke swims
into early blooming. Then, the inevitable blizzard
With my foot the supple ball, for perhaps
At the white place of the road's vanishing
Nor, indeed, the bit of paint itself can know of.
As distant memories, through the fog-dimmed light,
Astonished that you have returned to go
Left and right, and far ahead in the dusk.
I've drifted somewhat from the distant heart
And melt the spirit; his mouth will distend
No name, no meaning. Oh my friends,
To have been claimed by what we see of what
Escapees from the cold work of living,