In sonnets he made a lover’s bed—
his words a wake across the reader’s breast.
Furrowing fields of soul with words of blade,
he singing saying sowed his seeds of yes.

Wake’s water works its work in unwake’s dream—
dark through clods kernels wet set deeply root.
unknowing the sleeper suspects no doom;
newness blossoms up amazing from the shoot.

Then stirring finds life backwards upside down;
beds of weaving color endless wave;
oceanlarge love’s hope reveals a now;
love’s flower of giving now is every have.

If I could love you half a love as that,
then you my love my love would never doubt.