I lay among the winter stones, Breathing frost from a frozen sky. My heart as cold as barren bones, No answering echo, no reply. The river held its silver tongue. The flowers would not sing. The birds forgot the songs they’d sung At the edge of waiting spring. But under stone, beneath my bones, A pulse began to rise. Glowing behind its eyes. truest one My Valentine Love is not one single thread. It is the vine through broken stone. It is the low voice softly said That calls the hidden home. Valentine — crown me in red. By the light of the Morning Star, Lay inspiration on my head. What fills the cup when wine has failed? When trembling hands grow pale? There is a voice beneath the frost More dangerous and old. I feel the thawing of the dead — The frozen veins run red. Love is not one single thread. It is the vine through broken stone. It is the low voice softly said That calls the hidden home. Valentine — crown me in red. By the light of the Morning Star, Lay inspiration on my head. Incantation Under stone. Under cold. The dragons lay asleep. In the dark They kept the flame I buried deep. Always mine. Roses and flame. Always mine. Valentine.
