I want to die
  in the winter,
  —when it’s cold

With the reality
  of being alive, stronger,
  —than all fantasy of being

Where branches
  break crisply,
  —like a soul in decision

And the wind carrying away
  on its distance,
  —all strength and pain

I want to die
  in the winter,
—when its cold

(Chicago Illinois: July, 1977)