Scarce is a light which bore a hole to Love;
hardly a book, or mystic flight
into what only perhaps had been seen.
This is the improbability of Love -
like grass protruding from the settled snow:
that after all the vistas,
the sights which meddle with a life,
little had been touched - not Love!
Not a curve in the world to teach but in her,
as though somehow the ways to care were enbreasted.
Come to a Lover mindless.
Seek to see the flesh.
Comments
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lines 1, 4, 5 and first two lines of last stanza ...!!
a poem in a poem
title is an excellent device and brings the reader's mind into focus upon edges, and depths, and holes and glints
nicely done
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