the wind on the hills,
dogs barking down
where the Douro flows,
the wind takes me
to feel frozen hands,
the pain when blood
moves into my fingers,
better to thaw slowly
i feel touching you
as if a frozen branch
from a tree in winter,
i take you in my hand
and feel you know
the pain of our blood,
and i shudder and think
i should leave you sleep
in your hard cold soil
where you can rest
in the snow at peace,
clear , without memory
i want to kiss you
alive for me,
but must burn
in my fire, burn
until i am ashes
in this wind,
here,
above the Douro
leaving pure and dead
with no burial
to be heard of or seen
to go into my own last light
where only God can find
my soul and give it
to the birds and the sky
and the flow of all
