I wish the destruction of her house.
I wish the luscious flames to consume it in snowfall.
Her smile and shining foreheads of her family in the prarie
Turned to ash, tossed to breeze
wretched in its own disease.
Silence. And Howling: the wind through empty doorways.
A field on which to lay myself
And freeze my naked brittle sheath
To cracking shatter frost and gloom
where fragments of my loss maroon
on frozen blood spat underneath
Bound up in twisting coils of stale,
One of the twenty words for snow
now lays me down and throws away
the thoughts that haunt me everyday
of winter smiles in that old house.
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