How delicate the lilies when they bloom

How delicate the lilies when they bloom
beside the thin canals! How wildly vibrant
the music of the chimes at dawn! The room
is full of smoke and scents and the migrant
birds sing in the trees. I am the tyrant
ruling over meaningless things. Your sapphire
jewels and gems have sparkled in the errant
light of thunderstorms. You make me a fire
thirsting for your heavens, for your empire
extending beyond the horizon. Light refracts
and reflects off the water of my desire,
yet I am not satisfied. The Sun attracts
the salutary trees and the flowers display
the beauty that you exude when you lay.

You came in dark black clothing and then you

You came in dark black clothing and then you
loved me like I had not loved. The lace
and linen of your raiment in the bayou
saturated by the water. Love, your grace
is a mystery that fills the broad space
between these syllables, is the spectrum
of light that's bent and mixed. I've placed
my fingers on your skin, the peach and plum
of your flesh disclosed. Behind the stadium
where flowers grow, I whispered about going
into the dim cathedral. You're the medium
that everything's expressed in. I am doing
more now to keep you than before, the order
of the stars inspires me to try harder.

I'd sing of love revealed by woven lace

I'd sing of love revealed by woven lace
in elaborate patterns. The wide spectrum
of light illumines the heavens as I pace
between the oaks. I can hear the soft drum
of rain on the mud. The birds have a forum
in the branches pronouncing many delicate
songs between the leaves. The aged rum
and the sugar cane begin to complicate
our intoxicated love. The fabric indicates
her forms beneath it, her legs, thighs, hands,
neck and shoulders. I'd sing to fabricate
an image that fails her, that misunderstands
her glory and her power, and this I'll prove
through arguments that no man can remove.

The songs of every poet past and forever

The songs of every poet past and forever
worship only you. I have longed to search
the libraries for your form but I have never
found a satisfying argument. O how you arch
your back as you dance and reveal a new path
for me littered with flowers! I have wished
for nothing other than yourself in a bath
of light, your curves appearing and vanishing
beneath reflective water. O my love, grant
me your being! Allow me humbly to crown
you in the forest's light. How the errant
light splits leaves, whispers through your gown
and meets your body! I am the quiet believer
of the songs of every poet past and forever.

I seem to have loved you before. This fever

I seem to have loved you before. This fever
overcomes me in every era and every age
and remakes me. In life after life, forever,
my spellbound heart subjects me to the bondage
of your dazzling light. In life after life
I've woven necklaces of songs, long operas
and epics about your mystery. Be the wife
of this scattered verse riddled with anaphora
and ancient device. I now celebrate our
love in a tale or story, your many forms
are images of what is remembered. I pour
this spirit from my mouth into the storm
that whirls about the house. O the necklace
of songs you take as a gift adorns your face!

Lover, you rise like dawn within my thoughts

Lover, you rise like dawn within my thoughts
defending me with your light. O your comforts
are those that birds and trees have always sought
by opening up. I'm hearing the long and short
vowels articulated, the music that delights
my soul. The warm light expresses your mercy,
your forgiveness of the iniquities of night
and the awful sin of youth. You're the currency
of the heavens and your soft, curved arms held
me when I was forsaken. The trees stand upright
and the storm does not think that it should yield
to a poet's sentiment. O lover, you tighten
yourself around me, you're the joy I've sought
in verses and the multitude of my thoughts.

The Sun has changed the color of the field

The Sun has changed the color of the field
from purple to a rich orange. The valley
of her back is curving, her hands shield
her eyes from the sharp light. O her belly
is softer than a cloud or a green pasture!
It is softer than the light of a distant
painting from another era. The gestures
of an artist—I was in love the instant
I heard her sing. I had an unclear picture
of her posture when I was not the man
I am today: the curving skin, the moisture
on her lips, the dancing form of a woman
with delicate lines. The light has moved
across the earth revealing our true love.