I Didn’t Ask for Summer

The snow came earlier this year
then went away, and winter one
did sink into the ground again
as autumn two had just begun.
So too do I still think of you
and of you only can I pen
a word that’s focused, soft, and good
but will not let me start again
on something else: the crack of life,
how far I’ve come and where I’ll go,
and Better, hand in hand with Worse
conversing still of tomorrow
inside my head. It is these things
which I sit down to speak about –
to place in text and say my piece
before my last word casts me out –
but you. You’re between ev’ry word.
It’s you that this is written for
I’ve felt all I could ever feel
and still I find I can write more.
But let the winter fall on me
and let me feel a stiller cold
than this of autumn wind that tastes
of all the seasons you withhold.