Apology by Vassar Miller
I do believe it’s time for another Vassar Miller poem. Since it’s finally cooler than 90F here, I may just keep posting poems referring to cold.
Apology
By Vassar Miller
My mortal love’s a rabbit skin
That will not reach around your bones
To charm the chill, to wrap you in
Against the wind whose undertones
Are death, or snow whose flakes are stones.
My word will never do for thread
To knit you garments snug and tight
Though I would fold you foot and head
Against the frost-fangs of the night
Killing whatever rose they bite.
My will is not enough to stretch
The tattered pelt around us two.
Pity, with each of us a wretch,
Comes dyed my hurt’s deceitful hue
As rag for me, not robe for you.
The only cover from heart’s weather,
The only comfort under which
Our naked souls may crouch together
Only immortal love, all-rich
In warmer wool than fleece, can stitch.
