Think not to confuse me with poems or love beginning
Without a sign or sound:
Here at the edge of rivers hung with ice
Spring is still miles away, and yet I wake
Throughout the dark, listen, and throb with all
Her summoning explosions underground.
Oh Mary, you continue to point to darkness and to decay, and that is the faithful sign, sound, and companion of what may yet be the abundant love in the human heart. In the coolness that we present to others of our kind, and the heat that comes to our changing climates, is this place where beauty and growth begins, recycles, ends, amen?