O mighty one
enclose me in your arms
will you?

you are a redwood in autumn with an open door
where leaves twirling to touchdown on damp hands
slide in raindrops to the mourning soil-

or you are polluted snow, come end of winter,
cawing in the black ice
and new burning by the orange lamps

whatever you,

good or wrong

O temperate shield
-while the day ends-
will you?