Winter

Harder days are coming - Ingeborg Bachmann

A suitable time is coming

for all the loves that die in winter.
The trees, gaunt mourners,
will stand there proud and naked
under the grey, sepulchral sky,
the crows, black raucous
choristers, will proudly strut
their claw marks in the snow,
the frozen ground a sombre place
for all the loves that die in winter -
let them lie there
and dont try to dig in this hard place.

Youll dip your fingers in the snow

to trace the painful cold
of all the smiles that failed,
and catch the shivering
melancholy of the sighs
of all the loves that die in winter.
Listen well and youll just hear
the chill music still lingering
in the chambers of the hearts
of all the loves that die in winter -
let them lie there
and dont try to dig in this hard place.

Your eyes will see the outlines

of the words they spoke
still hanging icily in the air,
words of parting and farewell
from all the loves that die in winter.
Grasp them with cold, bare hands
and shape them into memories,
then feel these snowballs
slowly trickle through your fingers
like all the loves that die in winter -
so let them lie there
and dont try to dig in this hard place.