Now,
as the rain bends over the puddle,
and the day rusts
dropping towards night
like a dry leaf,
as the sharp wind
spreads about,
I fear the ice
and its glassy pavements,
the snow as it begins
to roughen,
I fear the cold of winter,
growing transparent from the depths,
for tenderness wells up out of me
like a first snowdrop
unfurling into your sleet,
flowering in your
hard inclement season.
Translated by James Naughton
(From: The Strange Woman, 1994)