i pray in time, friend,
that this you understand,

that it has to be my sweetest displeasure
and yet my most unjust liberty

to tell you that every quiet passing
along a young and hopeful causeway

was almost gladly spent finding,
some how or another . . .

    every day new to discover you over and again,
    so to drink in with haste the strange august nectar
    and draw into my lungs the sovereign aura

    that drift from your autumn eyes.
  
    how to hold and to press gently your hands
    just a moment more between mine in a way
    that kisses with, in consummate balance,

    a firm allowance and a free imperative.

    how to mold, to sculpt, to shape
    my habitual pining over your subtle forms
    into an simple, ever green, professant blessing

    a splendid, deep down, ours religion.

    how to capture your innocent stargaze
    in the longing embrace of my own
    so that for one moment so perfectly brief

    we were one great blossoming cosmos.

    how to be one who aligns our beating royal suns
    who calms our winters and ignites our summers
    who dances and dies in the storms and the fires

    that splash from your glimmering eyes.

    how to be whom you adore until the requiem day
    when our confessional ******* swell and crash in the cascading sand
    to the sonorous beat of a final splendid rapturous breathtaking harmonious

                    Yes.

    as fury and ecstasy ripple and bound
    in our lush fantastical burial ground.
    as our progenies daydream of kingdoms to come
    and sing with an amorous hymn on their tongues.

yes, and so it has been now for days and for tides
that my latent creations in whatever measures
those passions, when sparked and then quenched in an instant
are no more or less than my sweetest displeasures.