last night's snow, still melting
on the hills behind our house
(where you lie, still sleeping)
and my eyes are still blinking
you from them,
reluctant to give you up
in exchange for these dead greeks
and their murderous incest
it is the bitter balance of love
they oppose - the necessary anchors of life;
the weight of clothes our skins object to,
the use of words more loud than touching,
unshared breaths
and the interjection of light
into our blissful dusk;
erasing your shadow from my eyes,
striking those hill-tops
where snow no longer lies