i was cloth
woven
to catch
your face.
did you see
in me
that shape?
nothing else perhaps
no mirror
could give you
what i could any clearer.
all blinding
white, all gold,
all flowers
teeth-grit with
opening fold,
all spring
pushed out
as if it were summer
not
seasons' betrayal
but
to find
an owner.
i shudder
for a limit
and find
white only
and gold
all-flowering--
a god
that lonely would have
me heal, that
gives nothing away.