When the warmth
that abides in me
flees,
in the Winter
when the trees are still
on the small hill
between the great forests
those great oaks
surrounding the spring
where lisa waits
tangled by the
golden threads.
When I am still
and write no more;
still she'll know
I did for Beauty's sake,
for her alone,
naked in the Holy Grove
the bruises I endured
the sacred spring
the wonder in the budding trees,
the walk we take alone.


















Katie













20 old applause
