Last time, I came back cold;
colder than any living thing was meant to feel.
Your burning coals, flung from your flaming tongue,
extinguished themselves against the skin of my unclaimed body,
and I didn’t feel a thing, except cold;
colder than a living thing was even meant to feel.
You harnessed the storm clouds,
you rode the winds like winged horses;
the beds of the seas were uncovered and laid bare,
because many waters cannot quench love,
nor can the floodwaters drown it* – ah!
but the cold carries it deeper than any living thing can suffer.
You drew me out of great waters, and the cold coated me
with its thick, numb covering, impervious; impermeable.
- Song of Solomon 8:7
over the water 