Once we were high as the moon,
Now after the Fall, tripping from
Dim star to darkness, arms out-
Stretcht, fingers grazing, grasping
Never plucking from the stellar vineyards.
Your body is the yew that bends &
Sways in the breezes of Nocturne
But never topples. It has been hewn
and shaped by drunken gardeners,
Crackt by frost, and scorcht
By the August, but
Mai's gentle kisses and
The embraces of fogs,
And lovers' tumblings
At your roots, give a
Gentle grace to the young rake
That leans against you,
Dreaming up through your
Boughs.
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