Each mortal thing does one thing and the same: Deals out that being indoors each one dwells; Selves - goes itself; myself it speaks and spells, Crying "What I do is me: for that I came." ~G.M. Hopkins
Friday, September 22, 2006
love
My love dresses me
in diffusing gowns
of deep earth
rooting me
to richest loam,
then flings me to heaven
in ancient oak's newest leaves.
My love twirls me
in echoing mirth
infusing my eyes
with seas' tempests
and her depths
pour brine
upon my sunlit face,
trailing radiant shells
within my waving hair.
My love
tastes of exquisite desire
sustains small faiths
and expectations,
the palette of skies
embraced in
a small
jeweled jar.
My love
is all
I own
I wear it
as freely
as sunshine.
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