I Want To Do For You What

In The House Of Poetry Nothing Endures That Is Not Written With Blood To Be Heard With Blood.

You & I, Love, Together We Ratify The Silence, While The Sea Destroys Its Perpetual Statues, Collapses Its Towers Of Wild Speed And Whiteness: Because In The Weavings Of Those Invisible Fabrics, Galloping Water, Incessant Sand, We Make The Only Permanent Tenderness.

Oh Each Successive Night That Comes Has Something In It Of An Abandoned Ember That Is Slowly Burning Out, And It Falls Swathed In Ruins, Surrounded By Funereal Objects.

I Want To Do With You What The Spring Does With The Cherry Trees.

Peace Goes Into The Making Of A Poem As Flour Goes Into The Making Of Bread.