Nature adorns her vacuums:
Eden, in lieu of Gardener or Keep, overdrives the breach;
garland wreaths, julep leaves, Clover carpets
the well-dint of the fleeing heel,
just as Vitality, from Lushness, deserts to humbling Humus.
I bargain that We will
be survived by teeming hosts of white Chrysanthemum.
Our grim miracle resembling, so, fish and loaves;
of Manna eked of Woe.
Staid amatory shall cater the craving of a brood;
from our tears rich elixir brewed,
our tender flanks yielding stew.
Scarcity is Her own aphrodisiac,
abused in company of more than two.
But sure as Man, worms lapse at their hour
and they, their own kind, must consume
giving back Space, where is room.
So, must we, our own Passion’s devour,
that made manifest they replenish their expanse,
as when a hand replenishes a glove--
it first breathes upon the absence of Absence.
Let us, then, dine. Let us then, Love…