The perilous yellow sun follows with its slant eyes <br />masts of the shuddered grove steaming up to capsize <br />in the frozen straits of Epiphany. February has fewer <br />days than the other months; therefore, it's more cruel <br />than the rest. Dearest, it's more sound <br />to wrap up our sailing round <br />the globe with habitual naval grace, <br />moving your cot to the fireplace <br />where our dreadnought is going under <br />in great smoke. Only fire can grasp a winter! <br />Golder unharnessed stallions in the chimney <br />dye their manes to more corvine shades as they near the finish, <br />and the dark room fills with the plaintive, incessant chirring <br />of a naked, lounging grasshopper one cannot cup in fingers.<br /><br />Joseph Brodsky<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tsushima-screen/
