What can I say when my temptation
is despair, when it sounds so deep and smooth?
The world is dark, he says,
and so are you;
my shadow scratches everything.
He speaks in poetry—but you, my God,
today have said no more
than what the silent stinging flakes of ice have told me.
And the iron sky of your making.
And man’s brick.
Where is the Rock of my rejoicing; where
are you? I have sought you in the winter.
But everything is covered in a snow that won’t glow
white. Don’t leave.
When you are near,
even the ravens glisten
among their thawing carrion.