a glint of the Earth in delight
  is in bare sight and how we leap not with
our body but with our mind.

a handful of air swallowing
  the air – love that somehow
half-rhymes yet not even so entirely with hover
   shows the infinitude of possibilities

when it was not your palm that reads
   an incipient star but a moon half-bitten
by an outraged soul when it was not
  your  body
       I  have  found
but    an   isle  full of  noises
   and I so much  the quiet,
  shall not  return  with  the wind  so as
   to  set  sail and  farther off into  blackening  space
    onto  a realized sea tinctured with
      such  blue  blood, o  sea,  which somehow
rhymes  with but  the  end of
  you and I coming   to   be –