Burnt out on poetry br the campfire embers die, br which lets the stars shine. br br Without words comes silence, br and then, when silence vanishes br comes the sound of wind off the glacier, br br nothing compares, the sound of cold— br now, without fire, without words, cold— br in the black of a starlit night, br br dwarfed by their surroundings, br humbled by their insignificance, br glorying in the privilege they feel br br for being alone together in such a place br they softly fall into the warmth of one another.br br Hanque O . . .