I came over the snow – the packed snow

The ice-glaze hardened and polished,

Slithering the A 30, two hundred miles,

The road unnatural and familiar,

A road back into myself

After the cosmic disaster –

The worst snow and freeze-up for fifteen years,

Twenty miles an hour, over fallen heaven.

I came to the house

In the blue December twilight.

Just light enough

To fork up my potatoes, to unbed them

From my careful clamp. I shelled off their snowed-over coverlet.

They seemed almost warm in their straw.

They exhaled the sweetness

Of the hopes I’d dug into them. It was a nest

Secret, living, the eggs of my coming year,

Like my own plump litter, my secret family,

Little earthen embryos, little fists

And frowning brows and the old, new sleep-smell of earth.

I picked over my apples,

My Victorias, my pig’s noses,

In the dark outhouse, and my fat Bramleys.

My spring prayers still solid,

My summer intact in spite of everything.

I filled for you

A sack of potatoes and a sack of apples.

And I inspected my gladioli bulbs

In the dusty loft, in their dry rags, hibernating

(I did not know they were freezing to death).

Then I crept through the house. You never knew

How I listened to our absence,

A ghostly trespasser, or my strange gloating

In that inlaid corridor, in the snow-blue twilight,

So precise and tender, a dark sapphire.

The front room, our crimson chamber,

With our white-painted bookshelves, our patient books,

The rickety walnut desk I paid six pounds for,

The horse-hair Victorian chair I got for five shillings,

Waited only for us. It was so strange!

And the crimson cataract of our stair Wilton

Led up to caverns of twelfth-century silence

We had hardly disturbed, in our newness.

Listening there, at the bottom of the stair,

Under the snow-loaded house

Was like listening to the sleeping brain-life

Of an unborn baby.

The house made newly precious to me

By your last lonely weeks there, and your crying.

But sweet with cleanliness,

Tight as a plush-lined casket

In a safe

In the December dusk. And, shuttered by wintering boughs,

The stained church-windows glowed

As if the sun had sunk there, inside the church.