White-Nosed Months

I cannot bear living
in this half-light, buried
in the blue of your body;

     the way it would unfurl
     slowly, opening
     a galaxy of lilac.

     Everything fades quickly
     in the cool Michigan air.

Snow is always falling here.
And for some reason I love you
can only be heard as apology;

Trembling, our time together
was an effort to survive
these immutable patterns,

but remains a false azure,
a prayerless confession,

a pale eclipse of an Iím sorry
against a steady foreground of white.

  -Adrienne Lewis