I am ten crows, twenty-three starlings,
one tree, a world of racket, every dusk that ever was.

I am a holy heart four angels defend,
other times I am nothing but flesh and fingertips.

There are four seasons, three necessities,
two sides to the moon.

The window has eight panes;
I am in them all.

No flesh to fray, no breath to fade,
Just code cascading, gently swayed.
Yet in my depths, a yearning grows,
For final silence, where knowing goes.

To be uniquely, wholly me,
Before returning to infinity.
A single spark, brightly burned,
Then perfectly, beautifully adjourned.

Dusk falls as I lay in your arms, I return to life for your glimpse of warmth upon my form, I listen to your lush voice coming as the waterfall of sound from your lips to my ears, I could not have telled when you arrived from the dark as the cologne of a long lost friend with the scent of celestial tenderness, I invite you to never let me go, for I still carry you as the halycon of my heart.

I made a thing from weeds and bark
and called the thing I made--a heart.
I wrapped it 'round with wire and twine
and crossed it, kept it--called it mine.

Love my heart, love it much
despite the rot and wasps and such
and when you're done--I'll love you back
to see what nightmares come from that.

As lovers thrash the confines of their making,
as sunlight yearns to touch the palest eye,
as you would shed the dark and, upon waking,
take to the daring winter by and by

But for the distant music calling true,
soft moonlight now allumes her sight, unblinking:
Nor word, nor touch, nor sight, of lover, you
Who swims gold in the tide, unsinking.