This fulfilled beauty, this natural love,
Born neither below nor pitched from above,
Our touch brewed crows to bonding froths of doves,
From dandelion roots bloom bright blue foxgloves.
We find more time as our figures entwine
Than decades slipped through abysses divine,
Love’s wide as the soul of a Shinto shrine,
Twenty-two heavens had heralds align.
Fourth walls flood open, diurnal delight,
Liberating souls imprisoned by night,
Fifth columnists diaspored out of sight,
We are free to gauge the depths and the height.
Suddenly lost, fragile heart-fever field,
Seeds on a breeze, bronzed a sword and a shield.