It snows in my poems of my life
as it snows on the open fields over northern North America
And at the end of your street, where we can no longer see out the window
Below we sleep naked on top of the covers
in the summer of our love in January
Where our love could swim across all 148 miles of Lake Michigan in the cold
defying commonplace weather of logic and reason
and science and math
A steady thriving and building
Where the mirror of the shore wears out eventually
disappearing entirely
We swim out forever with the rear view of our lives getting smaller and larger at once
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem