In winter I wanted easy things: peeled
apples, strawberries with the caps cut off,
you. But in winter
no one leaves—only spring.
Sitting in my chair on the last
day of May, wrapped up. We are sad, almost
all the time. But with the snow
on the sill, I stayed
too cold to feel it.
Did you think I didn't love before you came?
Seasons only can be of interest:
berries that brighten, shrivel, burn
and fall away.
