Lyrics

Till love exhausts itself, longs for the sleep of words - my mistress' eyes - to lie on a white sheet, at rest in the language - let me count the ways - or shrink to a phrase like an epitaph - come live with me - or fall from its own high cloud as syllables in a pool of verse - one hour with thee. Till love gives in and speaks in the whisper of art - dear heart, how like you this? - love's lips pursed to quotation marks kissing a line - look in thy heart and write - love's light fading, darkening, black as ink on a page - there is a garden in her face. Till love is all in the mind - O my America! my new-found land - or all in the pen in the writer's hand - behold, thou art fair - not there, except in a poem, known by heart like a prayer, both near and far, near and far - the desire of the moth for the star.