Song for St Valentine's Day

Some years on Valentine's Day, it is already spring
and smalle briddes maken melodye, and so forth.
Two years ago, I remember, Jenny' s son just born,
I went outside and crossed the canal bridge
blinking in brilliant sunlight
and all the world was warm and new-life-full.
But this year there's still ice on the canal
old and yellow and unbeautiful
and people mutter fretfully into upturned coat collars
`it's lasted long enough, this winter, now it should end.'
And it is St Valentine's Day when we remember love and spring
and not the dying and the icy cold.

But I have many deaths around me.
This past year mourning bells have tolled for friends and family,
for deaths and divorces
the black print in the newspaper, the short span stated
the flourishing ended
and who is left to remember?

This day of love should be warm limbs, not fatuous sunbeams.
Comfortable upon the plumpy pillow
Giggles even, celebrations and champagne.
How can I balance this see-saw and ambiguous life
reconcile death and going on possibly find solace
perhaps a word that remains.

No statics, no still moments?
I have been here before
but it was different.
That must be it. Simple. Each spring is new.
Each death is strange.
Each place familiar, known, and changing.