When you love, my love, like a rattlesnake,
like a last mistake, like the fog on the hills,
like the wild goose calls that slice and scour—

when your blood, my love, when your wild blood wakes,
when the old love seeps through the purple walls
and the sense unspools in the mind’s hot wire—

when your skin, my love, as you start to shake,
when the sweet old skin round your ancient will,
feels the twist in the wind set the air on fire—

then you feel, my love, how your body aches,
how the bones groan dark as a madman’s wail,
how the sinews clench and the clouds turn sour

and the spider-cracks on the frozen lake
are the net of veins, are the wild goose call,
are your steps, my love, on the distant moor.