To be in love
Is to touch with a lighter hand.
In yourself you stretch, you are well.
You look at things
Through his eyes.
A cardinal is red.
A sky is blue.
Suddenly you know he knows too.
He is not there but
You know you are tasting together
The winter, or a light spring weather.
His hand to take your hand is overmuch.
Too much to bear.
You cannot look in his eyes
Because your pulse must not say
What must not be said.
When he
Shuts a door-
Is not there_
Your arms are water.
And you are free
With a ghastly freedom.
You are the beautiful half
Of a golden hurt.
You remember and covet his mouth
To touch, to whisper on.
Oh when to declare
Is certain Death!
Oh when to apprize
Is to mesmerize,
To see fall down, the Column of Gold,
Into the commonest ash.
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it percolated around perks and parks
There's an interesting flux around the influence of ee cummings with the clarity of celebrating to take in "A cardinal is red.
A sky is blue." It brings to mind the brilliance of blooming realizations are from the mood's freedom's fountains washing, while the other author might've been read for contrast in same truth that the cadence in decaying of a falling leaf was what came into focus through lonliness.
It's certainly not identically styled but I thought I'd mention it for more important notice.
As to the rest of her mosaic of emphasis, I saw she was mixingly coming to impact more than one thing love's exemplified by... because that would contradictorally cut the limitless.
The healing closeness makes remarkable differences in our strength as indicated in opening. The unity of approaching the world via each other's view or reverberations of how that was visited is captured I believe :
"Suddenly you know he knows too.
He is not there but
You know you are tasting together" as there's a consistency trusted.
The literal contact wan't as reflective I felt, yet conflict with fulfillment might be entailed though not for ending :
"Too much to bear.
You cannot look in his eyes
Because your pulse must not say
What must not be said." Responsibility allocated a loss as times can block off famiarity for i.e. means of living when both are a nature really.
there was no exaggeration siding one emotion fragmented now :
"Is not there_
Your arms are water.
And you are free
With a ghastly freedom.
You are the beautiful half
Of a golden hurt." and her whole contemplation could be more productive with the person for commitment then with quality of not left.
There seems a secrecy in schedules :
" Oh when to declare
Is certain Death!" with the gasp that would burn down the dear longings for dusting in ordinary living in more regular remaining, it seems
It is worn not how you want to know it always -
brooks' poem
borders on the trite and usual. Not her best.
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