Delirium in winter: the destination of snow

This snow is the dressing gown of fashionable women;
this season is the extreme hunting ground.

  I have opened the back of her heart
  to find nothing ticking there.

That tree was a mistake lord;
it shouldn't be green.

  The walls of my house
  are extremely thin.

What is the destination of snow,
it cannot be the wind?

  A certain angel informs me
  it passes through the skull to heaven.

This the word for those
going about in warm shoes:

  I know the black earth under the heart;
  have heard in hard weather
  my lover's last chill word.

 

(First published: Frogmore Papers no. 72)