Never so much as today have I paid careful attention
light of the january sun. Strong
but delicate. Elusive
lasting. It neither burns nor shivers.
It is neither dense nor clear. The
of the sun in january:
such is our enduring love
hidden by the ink of the days it just
peers in through a gap
(a distraction from the clouds)
to light up and to burst out
(never so much as today have I entreated
the wind to give it
a flying chance).
Our love is january:
even if I deem it forgotten
it will always come forth.