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Show THE LETTER "The morning sun through this first snow still warms the kitchen floor and lifts up the leaves in the potted window plants. The house sparrows have not yet abandoned their eaves. But now, all at once, we are separated. Look: a blueblack fly tosses and tosses against the pane as if to lose Itself into the flowering absence of all that white. It's snowing here today. Gradually, the poplar groves are sinking into the past, and tomorrow the sparrows will pick among the stones and find something here, and there, and then leave. What help is it to know sleep comes slowly to your bed-you won't come, any more, to mine." |