if every feigned eyed song was written of you
id say it were true.
for it all fell stone before
and never gave me as deep a sore as
this sleepless melody
does now.
you do, it seems,
belong in every cheerful stream
of song that has
ever been sung or strummed
those did not know of what they sang
and did not drink of which i now sink.
Your cymbals deafen me, still.
Keep. Make me fall within and I am without.
murmured as a quiet shout...

"Tis happy to love"