You’ll wait here a long time
In the closeness of the vault
You need nothing
But this body
Fat with the glut of that decaying summer
Here the world comes to you
All in scent, and drafts of cool air
Like a memory, or a dream
You don’t measure time
You weather it
In the drifts of snow that pile to your door
Then melt away
Leaving sodden ground
And pale skies
And the vast womb of nightfall