by Margot Wizansky
published in Poetry East, 2004
All winter you contract--
one tiller, one boat, one bay,
one light that shows no nuance.
You need this paring down.
In these small hills gone ochre,
think of me. Hold a deep regard
for yourself; resist the ice-dark
clamor of your soul.
Drift can take you.
Love is a fair exchange.