PETER GRAARUP WESTERGAARD

The lover says:

“Every branch on the tree
is burdened by snow
and bent to the ground.
Snowflakes swirl
around in the wind
to impassable places.

Though, be still this once, listen
I can hear something
at my chamber door:
It’s her, I think: my blackbird,
knocking at my entrance again.

If I opened my wooden door
there would blow a fierce wind
of snow and coldness, for sure,
through all of my apartment.
Yet my lady blackbird would
come and sit with me again.

And while the temperature would fall
in all my limbs and hers
I would think of
soon we would be able to kiss
the unkissable kisses
across the frost of an endless winter.”