Before love, that jolting lilt East of roses, in perturbed darkness, Missing the eternal circumstance, Yearning still, again, for that exploratory tilt … Vainly would I fly into your heart Afire, burning, consumed, expended. Love is not an ending; nor does it end Easily: becomes pith, becomes seed, starts Needing, kneading, mid-desperation, The long climb out of loneliness, turning In hope, in anguish, in foolish expectation. No two are joined except in painful learning: Each frightened lesion closed for restoration.
