Wide from the world, a stolen hour
We claim, and none may know.
~ Hart Crane, Interior
Here choosing love brings change, as weather's not enough
Which, though preserves the fruit but does not bear it still,
Ripening to stay not where, must be ate, uncuffs
To Who's nourished -- a gentle push but never wills
A typhoon. By no means halt which ether's fielding
A dictum, nor does our firmament stoop down on
Lowly ground but gives what it could to blossoming,
Grassy woods. To wit, my gentle sweep -- this, love fawns
The worth of life whole known's half way 'cross the threshold.
They do enjoy the cuckoo's song while we're in'ts gears.
Time: His third obedient, and last fall'n paragon
Bequeaths the slavish generations' wasted years.
But our dawn, 'tween their sublimes, clash resoundingly,
'Neath tepid rain, you heal like the carrying breeze.
