Never so much as today have I paid careful attention
to the
light of the january sun. Strong
but delicate. Elusive
but
lasting. It neither burns nor shivers.
It is neither dense nor clear. The
light
of the sun in january:
such is our enduring love
hidden by the ink of the days it just
peers in through a gap
(a distraction from the clouds)
to light up and to burst out
(never so much as today have I entreated
the wind to give it
a flying chance).
Our love is january:
even if I deem it forgotten
I know
it will always come forth.