She dance my heart a willow,

   like a thousand birds in flight;

     or a cloud in Spring, to billow,

     pillow soft

   and white.

She sing my soul,

   an ancient song,

     which sounds in me

   the whole day long.

And nights I dream

   the sweetest sight–

     to scheme

     my thoughts,

   a thousand beams of light.

And each to shine

   far more bright

     than, ever once, all mine.

Fall 2007