Beauty is not caused in her
If love is immortality
How shall I love more clearly?
The day and eternity
In the collection of this necessity
They might not need me
But they might, and her
The her of my smile and sight
For her my soul stands ajar
Ready to welcome
In ecstatic experience
The small perch of her song
Will she sing to me?
Hope being a feather of will
Unable are the loved to die
For her possibility is my breath
When my whole body
Is so warm that no cold can take me
That is poetry, and that is grace
Morning without her
Is a dwindled dawn of orange
My nerves sit and wait in pink
Ceremonious to be alive.