Breathing in frigid air, exhaling tenderness,
your voice falls on my cold shoulder

but I can't let you go.
I look at the Earth as egg, as mother.

Listen to me---
I want you to hear my wants, my desires.

I will share with you what is left of me
and I will listen to you read

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening. Our
paths will cross again on this January night.

The Earth As Egg
by David Clink


NOTES:

Appeared in Lynx, February 2002, v. 17, no. 1.

This version will appear in the forthcoming book,
Eating Fruit our of Season.