And filled it with your fatal presences,
The best a Texas Hill Country
Morning when the bluebonnets wept
While our bodies entwined
A sparrows song,
Your eyes enveloped the light
Of first day and I swear I could
See through Heaven's eyes,
When we shattered the noctirnal
And stroked the suns burn
Merely with unified cravings,
The deer crossed an unspeakable
Verse under the parting night,
I collapse in fatal gratitude
Taking willingly
The thorn of your memory;
Stuck intimately with the rising sun
And born of the wound
Was filled a cup
Encompassing the four things
Love:
Pain which your lips
Promised never to cause me :
Passion which endured as much as time
Swallows the years and closes the
Mouth of the things we remember:
Memory which sustains my soul and erodes my body:
Loyalty to the deceit that in some
Place when we were as perfect frames
In Time's womb
Eternal and everlasting
Where I pray as a Pagan
To return where no one can,
Still my cup empties with gratitude
And overflows tears I cannot
Contain within the spherical
Shell of your precision,
Cut deeply;
And with a despairing gratefulness
my cup runneth over.