Air.

Van Valckenborch, Winter, 1586

ANCIENT WINTER

Desire of your hands white

in the penumbra of the flame:

they had the fragrance of oakwood and roses;

of death. Ancient Winter.

The birds looked for their grain

and were suddenly of snow;

similarly words;

a little sun, an angel’s glory, 

and then the mist, and the trees

and us made of air in the morning.

Salvatore Quasimodo