The Poles
are within us,
insurmountable
while Awake,
we sleep across, to the Gate
of Mercy,
I lose you to you, that
is my Snow-Comfort,
say, that Jerusalem is,
say, as if I were this
your Whiteness,
as if you were
mine,
as if without us we could be we,
I open your leaves, forever,
you bless, you bed
us free.
