what love has done is not so much the moon in a cup.
it’s more as if the sun had all the sky
in a thimble…  and I had the eye of the world -
where my witness was gospel
and my time, a nest of unimpeachable
surrender.

what love has done is more than my angst interrupted.
it’s more as if a dove had stories to tell, but only a song said best.
every windmill… an uncertain calliope less inert
than my reckless cacophony
driving a nail into a palm
of endless.