To Eros

Now low rod :
marvel me, make me
  
knock, turn, open
my hat of sky,
  
let me so love.
Where caution is
  
ripe air, let us
garden injury; where
  
there’s redoubt,
let’s outdo fealty,
  
you and I
unruly. Dear spare bed,
  
dear whole open
ingathered weather :
  
furl hope, make
dark necessary
  
to lie in
whether we’re sad
  
after or joyful.
O dear viny mass,
  
grow green ever
over us, knot
  
some succor
for us to seek—