Could I be defeated by love so sweet
moving in echoes
across an immense hidden wheel of fate,
spinning memories?
Would the eyes of birds then bid farewell
to contentment
by removing the shroud of flight
finely covering me?

If I sang, a song scarcely heard
on the breath of impossibility,
could someone chime in with a glance of time
returning me to dust?
Or would it never shed into the places
where they set out in ships full of water
from the Fountain of Lust?

I once said the touch of a journey at first value
is held within the heart as a home
where faith has a character of its own.
However, I was not prepared
for the power or vitality of a dream
surviving over the longest time
ever known.

Rising away there in the fields,
I wonder why love leaves
on the air of pain
with its thumbs held out
to the Light of Never.
Can a poet such as I
lengthen what is kept
inside the day when Love’s Court
is held lingering within forever?

A blizzard of vacancy is coming down,
filling my heart,
a heart once made of stone.
Yes, I can be defeated
by love so sweet.
It has a character of its own.
I bid farewell to this shroud of flight
and to this impossible
breath of song.