Flush with fervour
Like a Victorian hymn;
Not an ode, nor an elegy,Sweating like faces
With the tears of truth;
But a boneSprung from the furrow,
Crazed with the runes
Of the inarticulate earth –Such, such is my love.
Dear, will you risk a finger
On these splintered pieces,Bathing them once more
In the balm of your hand?
====================© September 1984