A little more of spring’s silence
Piled on the roof-tops
A little longer morning yawn
In bed

Only the untrustworthy fire
Avidly
With a greedy rhythm
Speeds its slender way
Over ceilings and eaves

The day ascends
Sparks return from the sky
In heaven’s water-mills
The stone still grind

Go out and open yourself
To the frozen earth
That walks in the yards
Unclothed