to you, my beloved

i need to do something with myself

do something that i do not understand

when your scent comes over like a lost bird

over the pages which shrivel in my fingers

at the beauty of small.

my hands are tired of tied knots

and scratching depths out of tiny crevices

when i hear a song of you,

will it set my feet to singing,

and my lips to dancing?

with this crucible in my clutches,

what methods will i devise?

i'll build a bridge to castlebride

and watch you span it with your fingertips

my tower will be a tipping paper-roll

your wallpaper-steady hands will make it stand

i shall dig a whole in the sky 

and bathe in the vinegar of your commands

after which,

when i wrap my birdlike body 

in your giant's hands,

i still know you more than any man.