there is a holiness to the hearts affections that you know nothing about

 

is this love

it is the ochre

of a blue

far bluer

than the early eve

it is common for me

anticipating

the wait for cloud

and the seeping of moon

as it sings about the new day

if this is the living of it

then i am a man alone

on a couch

waiting for feet

and tempered breath

i think often of it

that in this death

i might be song

and the newness

of a sonnet

read for the first time

into the heart of one

i look up

cannot see

but for this bentness

this aroma of blue

butterflies for sleep

if i eyes closed

look up

i only feel the sun

and its involuntary

ways that declare

anithesis

for weeping declare

for we and the sky

it is only in this god gazing

that i see the envelope

of grace and its winds

that seduce the night

and creep into the way

of another tide

i look upon the blue

and see but it

when i look away

i see but it

when i am dead

i do not see but it