There’s not much to say
so I’ll make good use of saying it.
I’m getting old a few times over.
I’ve thrown words cheaply after nothing,
wastefully disowned time without care,
abandoned chances as casually as
dandelion seeds across summer air.

But when I see love done well,
I still ache for it myself.

Love—we are locked away from one another.
Only let our love break through between us.
As long as I have yet some life left in me
now I know what I desire:

  To be your teacher and your master,
  your acolyte and your slave.

The love I want breaks through
unto the clouds spattered near the sun,
over fields and meadows and grassy safety.

You are the drink that I imbibe, my sky,
vast, wild and high, my sunset and sunshine
my eyes, my heart, my death and rise.