My cheeks are red-hot, my lip still trembles, because I sent my hereto speak; every word of it delusional and awkward, an exuberance, an abrupt sound. That's how I spoke, oh, it still shows on my hot cheeks'm now carrying home. I look down at the snow and walk past many houses, past many hedges, many trees, the snow adorns hedge, tree and house. I walk on, staring Downey the snow, on my cheeks nothing but red-hot memory reminding me of my wild talk.

Oppressive Light: Selected Poems by Robert Walser