Line light above the earth,

linger on a little longer.

Vapors of night cling to the undersides of clouds

and the descent of daylight is rapid,

hold, hold a moment longer

for the yellow tides of smouldering summer,

for loud air and the dripping of sweat–

ice already gathers elsewhere,

headed our way to bury us deep,

to freeze in dreams of crystalline white,

still and quiet glass in the sky,

dark nights slept away in isolated hollows–

I should love the sun more

and take greater note of the blooming of spring buds

when my well-rested corpse has shaken

the tired cramps of hibernation and risen

past the dying year gone.