To the Unburned Daughter

If the bird sings for you, if the fire

Leaps, child; if the bright fish

Dazzles through window-pane ice,

Smash the glass. Speckled brown

And sound, let it swim

Lithe into curled fingers.

-Ice burns and fire licks.

O mother, my hands are burning, burning -

But if the fish leaps, if the fire

Freezes, daughter, and the bird sings,

Unlock silver lutes in your throat:

Sing. Sing yes to the morning.