January 6

We must stop bragging. There are limits For us to the cold and the twelfth night Marks them all. Just off the coast of Maine The lobster boats pass, dragging their nets. Capsize once in a while, in water Like that you die, that’s all, that water Isn’t even frozen. Not even Frozen, and that’s as cold as it gets. The hearts of birds beat voraciously So they keep warm, so if you put out A feeder, keep it full of the seeds Their hearts feed on, then it is only When their food runs out that you find them Inexpressibly taut in hollows, And that’s as cold as it ever gets.