The howling pretends to bring on winter,
but the howling was there all along.
In the miniature roses, in the tiny bees,
in the glittering bits of whatever that was
we called the wind when it was spring:
(Oh, remember, Sweetheart, we called it breeze.)
Copyright © 2004 Laura Kasischke
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Copper Canyon Press.