The Poles
are within us,
insurmountable
while Awake,
we sleep across, to the Gate
of Mercy,

I lose you to you, that
is my Snow-Comfort,

say, that Jerusalem is,

say, as if I were this
your Whiteness,
as if you were
mine,

as if without us we could be we,

I open your leaves, forever,

you bless, you bed
us free.