Ay Were Alive

Ay were alive, a sky were mine
cracked cold and furred along the hill.

On thresh of limb and stem
rough-made with leaf-
crush, moss ay were a carry.

Hurried with the brush and squeak of boot
on crusted snow none looked down
to where ay lay and did not speak.
Put by at camp, ay felt a break,
alone. Ay were struck deep.

Us had lost the want to build against
the cold and stay. The only watchful
fire were glint then spent
and us went one. Ay saw tops of trees, some melt

from snow, a quake of shaggy branch and gold
between the leaf. The us had broke. Ay felt the fault.