Poems-95

For Tony

There is nothing luscious as the sleep

all black and white surrounds

but for familiar darts of flash

and naked violet sounds

unless the stirring of the larks

sing praises in the sky

then nothing is as precious as

when tiny flutters fly

unless a looming stand of green

does bend in violent strain

then I'll not hope to see no more

of pine in winter rain

but what about my living love

he of transparent eye

the one who pleases while he's pleased

and gathers me to cry

I know I'll never more than want

himself so close to mine

much more than thousand roses red

or perfect rhyming line.