Night Address

by Elizabeth

I wait, cold, in a field of snow
No one disturbs the sleep.

I do not dare move my limbs
Slim wrists drop out from white sleeves.

I am a quiet beggar with no tin cup
Asking for the birds to alight.

What a ponderous night
Yet I am not loath to carry weight.

The feather-light is out of place
I am wearing boots that sink.

I call out a hollow sound
But my breath has frozen stiff.

Muss es sein? It must be.
Muss es sein? It must be.