Moving in Winter

Their life, collapsed like unplayed cards,

is carried piecemeal through the snow;

Headboard and footboard now, the bed

where she has lain desiring him

where overhead his sleep will build

its canopy to smother her once more;

their table, by four elbows worn

evening after evening while the wax runs down;

mirrors grey with reflecting them,

bureaus coffining from the cold

things that can shuffle in a drawer,

carpets rolled up around those echoes

which, shaken out, take wing and breed

new altercations, the old silences.