winter

in the winter,
you were forgotten,
with tiny bones,
shivering,
i thought my flesh
would keep you still.

i remember
the embodiment of a women,
original sin,
the fruit we drank from.

glorious mornings,
with still light,
pounding fire,
edged along the window pane.

i sang so sullen,
with wings,
inside myself,
no melody could nurture you.

how could burden bless,
such frail convultion?

in all memory,
we still bore no blessing,
to our winter fruit.