Flush with fervour
Like a Victorian hymn;
Not
an ode, nor an elegy,
Sweating
like facesWith the tears of truth;
But
a bone
Sprung
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 moreIn the balm of your hand?
====================
© September 1984