Prayer in Summer
I know now what’s the matter on this sunny day: women
            with hardly a stitch on, all shapes and sizes,
almost all beautiful, or rather a turn-on, grace the streets
            and I’m alone, without energy to maneuver the chat up
as I deftly managed — it seems now — in the young days, finding myself
            oftener than not lost in another’s body.
Now I wish the Hades of Winter back, Persephone safely wrapped up,
            the street in a heavy overcoat of prickly woolen snow.