the snow’s still hard,
the bark is bare and peeling;
there is no glamour in
the way i’m feeling.

the world’s indifference
seems stark and chilling –
the spirit’s weak; the flesh
no longer willing –

and yet, i still believe
in what’s remaining:
that losing only comes
when there’s been gaining,

that much of what we do’s
past praise, or censure —
and love can change the terms

of our indenture