Winter snow will come.
Winter wind will blow.
Snow melts on flesh.
Wind bites the flesh.
One cannot deny they are alive
In the throes of a driving winter storm.
One cannot deny light is brightest
When filling many thousand years darkness.
Our flesh cannot deny enfleshment
When our ears are pierced by gnashing gales,
When our hands bleed upon icy snow drifts.
peacocks for pilgrims 