He had married her on a dark winter’s morning when hope burned low
And his prospects were dim. Yet her piety to him like the gold of Araby
Shone in a heart ablaze with fire by which to warm cold thoughts
As in the grey light of day the months rolled past, then years,
And the bottom line translated meager rewards
And more mouths to feed though she sang what light was given her
Into a wondrous fount from which he drank greedily,
Shunning all but his own despairing gaze.
Until that day
The accountant raced to greet him at the door
When scarce he had reached it, pumping his hand
Like a slot machine delivering countless zeros
In cash, turning heads until there were none
Who were not his friends and the spinning world settled
Into a long summer’s day. No longer did the wife of winter
Hold her charms, for who would want Christ
In Aladdin’s cave, and light and fire
In the heat of day where garden paths like mazes
Run into evenings in tasteful palaces and carnival feasts.
Here, a kneeling wife at prayer beside a deserted bed
Haunts his mind, she whose want of dark zeros
Pull through the air
Warm notes of winter.