Pick up the cello,
Place your bow on its strings
And feel as it sings
A sound so full, that’s come
As simply as placing
Finger against thumb.


Only you would take my head
in the basket of your arms
and hold it against your heart
despite all the misgivings and misunderstandings;


Soft snow falls –
The garden patched with white
Is sewn and seamed
With footprints; bare branches