You - Longing, by Miron Białoszewski

[snowynight]

 Evening is full of white soil
And black sky
And now I know
through the trees
extending their rimed fingers
of branches
that you endure in me

Over the dome of bushes
Covered with snow
I raise your face

I begin to understand on this night
starless
that I need to make Your voice
sound above the wind

I lower my head,
To touch a vision of your hands with my hair.
Do you know I'm cold,
That I miss -- those hands
And before my lips change them into touch
Space will remain
The longing