Love is all we could manage, its particles floating from the hard rim of the air. Our tracks were clear as a book in the fresh chance heaven threw behind us. And the pain went on searching behind your face, the snow went on falling. Once I felt your tongue work so gently into my brain, it took root in the mind-dark and branched forth again as song. Character is a failure of love, and I want to love you this morning… I want to love the darkening blue at the sky’s edge, our breath-smoke warming the air before it dissolves into a hard February day. ~ Paul Zweig (Photo by Patrick Demarchelier)