I’m standing on your doorstep,
wearing that one pair of shoes,
and on the wall my fingers tap
out a happy ending made from fragmentary clues.
I would gladly wait
for the leaves to fall again and again,
would choose to be late
and decide to stay through winter each time it began.
You say time flew
but has now grown old,
as the wind was a breeze that grew
to be strong and cold.
But I would see the sun
during an endless night,
would live a thousand lives and still run
for a chance to be by winter’s side.
So if you would open the door
again but say instead,
that what has flown can fly once more,
I’d choose to spend my time in winter’s bed.