Every hungry second was
fed heavy moments--there
wasn't a single instant that
wasn't swollen with happiness.
My limbs were perfectly lost as they
were on Valentine's day, that year,
that hour, that night which held
a carol for only our universe to hear.
Your stakes had taken their claim
and you took a flight, and we
couldn't miss each other more
but there is something that
simply won't do:
The measure of this trade
is likened to the depth between
glass and a holiday cloth to keep
the "spirit intact."
I could give you a Heaven, I
could assure you a Glory behind any
beyond--I could knit you this winter
warm and near, only
if Creation could have another go, only
if this capacity could fly you here.
