My love is kept, and I have nailed
Her face to mine in a box of sleep,
A chamber for lost chances, subtle
Visitations, concrete emanations,
Somnambulistic signs and mercies 
Elation, we walk through meadows 
Of the mending sun, sweetly chaste,
Ever deep into the wandering shift,
That tearing time and moon allows,
Real as dream, to the lands of night.