Tell
yourself
as
it gets cold and gray falls from the air
that
you will go on
walking,
hearing
the
same tune no matter where
you
find yourself—
inside
the dome of dark
or
under the cracking white
of
the moon's gaze in a valley of snow.
Tonight
as it gets cold
tell
yourself
what
you know which is nothing
but
the tune your bones play
as
you keep going. And you will be able
for
once to lie down under the small fire
of
winter stars.
And
if it happens that you cannot
go
on or turn back
and
you find yourself
where
you will be at the end,
tell
yourself
in
that final flowing of cold through your limbs
that
you love what you are.