Lords of Winter and of Love

We endure the winter, but not in discontent. The leap of the heart is always there, our nicest girls marry snakes. We take on death directly, with delicacy, laughter and sensuality, as all great lovers do. We are lovers whether we like it or not: ironic, incubating in the gloom, diving into incoherent seas in seasons sweetly studded with arctic rhododendrons. We may, by mid-March, wear a smile like an old suit, but our dreams are more intense, more intimate, Adam and Eve in a drunken sleigh. This is an extraordinary collection because of its range, subtlety, slyness, confidence, and wryness. Here is a race of lovers.