As the earth sweeps from perihelion towards July’s aphelion,
The angle of the sun’s now missing rays will soon favor us.
There is a steady drip of rain in the downspout.
Last evening’s snow dust is melted.
The anguish of my heart is bounded by no limits.
Like the shrill cold shriek of the wind a the windows,
It has no receiver, but exists unto itself.
Though my face has the blush of youth,
and my body is the signal of desire,
Beneath is bent a spirit in pain.
Hunched in a wind of despair and battered by the faithless,
I long only for a quick and quiet exit.