when i arrange my love as if a smear
of yellow-gold encrustment on a wound,
infected like an unattended tear--
upholstering skin--the letting of the blood--
when i abide my love but bare, a place
cavernous empty, echoing, empty, caverns--
when i regard my love within my face
its undiluted strength a weft that ravens--
when i address my love, when i address
my love with terms of love, when i belove
my love with terms a dove would creel to press
bare from its beak, when i my love behoove
when i behave with love as if addressed--
when i think any paucit word is clearer
than those i shed, but cannot break the mirror.