[2 July 2019]
As wind rustles in long ríver grass,
And settles ín dens and lilies and breast;
As róots spríng, dig deep down and hóld tíght, always guest
When sun mingles with water in glass
And pools in quiet places, in the deep, in the crevásse,
In pass through in journey to sun’s nest,
Blessed ánd dressed as a flutter of sparrows in vest
Of violets and coal and ember and spróut gréen at Sunday mass:
So, too, is your name to me. Your name is the cloud that breaks,
The cool of your hand on my face, your name:
The touch of moonlight against the hill, the kiss préssed on lakes
And breezes and aches to draw nearer. Your name rises in the sáme
Sóng of child’s wonder as bird takes flight and wakes
In last lights of night and búrsts forth ín flame.
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