N.ae.d.A. bean

A home for my heart and mind;


the gift you’ve given
to me this winter
could have never been
so sweet and bitter
if it hadn’t come this winter
when our hearts
we smote

bitten by moths our
woolen leaks our
warmth but you are kind—
kind enough—to prescribe
some of saint johns wart
for the wind and cold
we coxe

from this, our hearts,
freezing bitter and sweet
this winter: such a gift:
“here is the knife,
here is the blood,
here is the bleeding,
and here—here!—

have this:
a clot.”

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