Pacific Winter

No more! No more!
Humid fevered island of mud and dusty rain.
How much longer —how much more rotting?
What more unused pain and sweat stinging the eyes?
Teach thy necessity . . .
Only give us the virtue of the cool sea rolling
Eastward to the cold tingle
Of frosted wind, the round jingle of winter sounds;
Only the feel of hard air through the open door
On the nerve-ends and in the corner of the eyes;
The honesty of snow again.
No more
The treacherous trickle of clammy rain
Or steaming thickened sun.
But crisp salt spray drenching on the way
To the forgotten smell of snow-bent juniper and pine,
The zero sign of frosty crunch beneath the feet
(Not coral sands),
The warm fusion of bare-clasped hands,
The bright white plumes of winter laughter,
The fire-warm glow of winter love.

Pointed crystal images of home.