Friday, October 04, 2013


This serenade must shiver the lilac bushes
blur the rings of elms within within
and haul late-night clouds aside
from celescopes their vapors cannot touch;
it must reach only one woman,
and her name is the sea,
and it has been said.

There is no ache in time
to abandon her tiniest doings
the light on her fingers is universal
and the song around it
needs to breathe the air of all time
through this time
bring stone together with stone
a bed of moss at the foot
of the life of a fountain
falling of cold water on matted rock-path

The cleanliness of it, and her place
so far along where it flows
where it meets salt and is overwhelmed
by the sadness around the earth
on the skin and in the radiant unseen
fire at the fire's center.

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