........... At a time when angels and demons decide on Little Match Girl’s fate...

She had always wanted words, she loved them, grew up on them. Words gave her clarity, brought reason, shape. Whereas I thought words bent emotions like sticks in water.

(She returned to her husband. From this point on, she whispered, we will either find or lose our souls. Seas move away, why not lovers?)

                                       — Michael Ondaatje

Cold?

How cold exactly could it be
– minus you,
no more...

The rest does not matter!
The rest"s just climate!

I keep silent to myself--

– keeping summer
hidden under tongue.

And again I’ll try

to set the my fireplace on fire

with the only thought
that you are.

When outside
most certainly there are

Little match girls selling boxes

With lips and heels
BLUE from cold.

And most probably somewhere
wanders

a Kai – –  sorrowful

without  a Gerda
(in the ice castle blinded she would be)

warmly keeping to her conscience
– sleeping tight.

But, there still must be

 – now exactly where  –

do not ask! –
but

a shop for hope with two shelves –

in dust.

There must still be

A nursery for phoenixes

Amongst the dust that"s left
behind the fairy tales bonfires.

I shall not divert myself to search for all these
like I said

 –           I am  too cold.

       –       minus You, no more... !

(and do not look now shocked, if would)

It IS enough – for getting frozen.

(from the inside!).