Down on the lake edge, grasses bow to the cold snow-wind, And bare aspens agree, bending toward hard waters without solace. The snowdust wavers in the white eye, sending time into whirls and colors Into oblivion, although In California we are not supposed to know What all these chills are for, Nor meant to face This hard bright water blind.
Under the carport, hard edges have been placed -- They snap at every passage as far As the heart can hear or even know Under the law of snow wind Coloring the very mind. Those who still have far to go Must think harder, hold the star Just there, beyond the frost-long face.
This is where blood and fingers go The private door Fighting the private race And no-one will mind That time, unkind, And hardened places Will not reveal the core ? Where the real heart knows alone,