Stupefying hazards
cavort with sublime intent,
irreverently watering their wine
whilst laying bare the frosts
of hidden winters.
Can we begin to love again
without the benefit of deep fear,
without some special knowledge
running through to... here?
Where else could it come from?
Who can accept such a fate,
if not those wondrous beings
who come alone, unasked,
in the silence of the night?