Synesthetic Air

Not for days, gentle lady,
have I heard your voice,
have I seen the intricate
snow, slow mountain vowels
cupped at the indentation
of your throat where I
would put my mouth forever.
And their meanings, crystalline
variegated loves of this world,
fall from your mouth. Snowfall
at red twilight: something
never seen in this world,
but when your voice touches
my ear, my eyes, all,
all the bare fields this winter
will not freeze because their
love lies banked above them.