If I could transcend–
be anything lovely–
I’d be so many trees and flowers
and certain unsuspecting lips

But, tonight I’d be this
one white mitten
It is small as a barn kitten
and almost purring
on my reckless, grasping hand

In this mitten
my hand looks more like a heart
In this mitten
my heart it soft and pure
In this mitten
pure winter yield itself
a lover’s whispered, yes.