I gave you hurtings
so that you might feel
Winter in your Soul.

I sometimes placed upon my heart
virgin olive oil to heal the scars you've caused.


I piled high
in your eyes
Love and its Laments
as your cool wind
blew
down even the summer Solstice.

I carried your
leaden comments
to the cemetery
where I buried them
with the other
dead things
and
I blew you
my last
Summer Kiss
for the luck
I knew
you'd need.

Your last leaf
fell
from your waterless tree
revealing that
Summer Kisses
have no truck
or need
for rusty
dead leaves
carpeting
a Winter Soul;
twice dead
now skipping even
Autumn's
surcease
before your Winter blows.