I’m thinking more of solid things –what we count on returning or what
stands by us: the wintry fields
this morning’s frost crust gripped
(the frost, of course, would melt);
or asphalt gritted for the weather;
statues, gargoyles, abutments;
or wood or steel or marble, flesh.
I’m thinking more of solid thingsas words become sullied, put
to all the uses in the world.
A crate’s brute fact, ripe fruit
kept in cold storage start to look
like hope while we wait for the thaw.