O the misery of meaning,
                                when you haVe none,
only presence,
                  in the blink of an eye,
stopped in its studiousness
                                   to manage its tears.
when the petals finally fell,
                                         and the plant shriveled
to a myth in memory,
                        you became clearer
than the winter sun,
                            snowflakes pollen
in its cold brightness,
                               the next season
an embryo in the emptiness.
                                   your flowering
foretold in the bitterness,
                                       your munificence
in the purity of the snow,
                                      your possibility
hibernating in my consciousness.

                                                stale drifting
of my thought,
                  words blown about like brittle leaves
from a forgotten season,
                                no longer bind me
to my loneliness,
                 but lead to the limits
where you once again impossibly appear,
                                                       probable
in a distant cosmos
                           of feeling.