Languid soundings of evening recede;
when commercials calm, dulling faint,
lay yourself simple in his hold. Feed
exhaustion with a touch. Wooing heads wane
and lull, softly full by the fire's beads
burning low in the hearth. Shames
of the day cannot enter there. Nothing short of
a tangible fullness describes such love.

The slow dropping of retiring snow
slumps over the roof. The business of
being disappears into the dark. Know
that they are alive and that that is enough.
Know they are alive, though sharp winds blow.
Wholly essential affections drive
the warming depth. They are alive.