It was the darkest night,
in the heart of the winter;
I looked up and saw a voided sky. No moon,
not even clouds to weep
on the crusted ice that froze the land,
the river, formed floes on the ocean’s waves.
Looking up, I had not seen –
A hand grasped my left,
another my right – palms pressed together:
The chain crossed cracks, ditches, sink holes,
highways, cities, counties,
A slow sound silvered, a hum, a murmur,
a buzz, a song, an aria.
We will hold hands in the dead of
Winter will have its time, but
we will have an early spring –
in spite of it all.