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—