Soul of our souls sinks in the glass wine
Where all poems in that glass wine
Exists-one only; an assured love
That the procession of our fate
Which my life holds, they readily may conceive
Whoever stood to watch mountains?
In some still touch the moon of they’re own, and seen,
Within the deep of its capacious breast,
Thought trees, rocks, clouds, and blue sky;
And, on its glassy surface, our souls of foam
Numerous as stars; that our souls on the sky
Beloved to see the emotion of the stars,
Else impossible to know.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006