Adored for insight we are ever blind
to time-achieving sweet and grave affection,
this goal we lose by force of love’s defection
as on we talk as if it’s talk that binds.
We get the winnings we will throw away,
as words, not love, preside unchecked, unblamed.
When old insistence barges on untamed
we’re left to choke on words we long to say.
The knots inside are simple to undo,
all ships obey the wind and running tide,
all flesh that’s trapped hoped more beside
than darker death, companions there too few.
It seems we must find balance in direction,
wind with water preparing for perfection.