Remind me, would you, to buy more of the Peach Momotaro, with its images of waterfalls, lichen-toned terraces, waves of mountains imprinted with dots, little white flowers, and mist. When I drink it, and the steam enters me, I think of you and the water feels as if it’s pouring over the . . .
A Birthday
My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a water'd shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea; My heart is gladder than all these, Because my love is come to me. Raise me a daïs of . . .
16
I lose myself in the space at the base Of your neck, the wood hollow, a place Where rainwater collects and birds sing, The smoothest pool for my longing. I want to lay my tongue in the groove Of flesh, below the bone cupola. I want to stay there and not to move, To taste your skin of . . .
Wild Nights, Wild Nights! (269)
Wild Nights – Wild Nights! Were I with thee Wild Nights should be Our luxury! Futile – the winds – To a heart in port – Done with the compass – Done with the chart! Rowing in Eden – Ah, the sea! Might I moor – Tonight – In thee! —Emily Dickinson For more love poems, see The . . .
A Line-Storm Song
The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift, The road is forlorn all day, Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift, And the hoof-prints vanish away. The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee, Expend their bloom in vain. Come over the hills and far with me, And be my love in the rain. The . . .
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