I stand on one leg by a frozen pond, 
praying for my lover to awake, 
flakes of snow falling on my eyelids, 
so holy wan, it is, so cold. 

Now were I laid under churchyard mould 
where snails cling tight to the broken wall, 
speedwell, mouse-ear and shepherd’s purse 
would push on before me to hail my coming, 

the dandelion lifting between my knees, 
the moss growing softly upon my thighs, 
the raven nesting upon my breast 
and beetles stirring within my womb, 

while rats run under to comb me clean 
and bats fly over to frighten the rain.