Sie war schon Wurzel.
I fear too much sun. The half-night
of wistfulness better suits
my complexion. Then is the earth damp
and my fingers strong enough to dig
into clayish soil, to excavate
your deep roots, lift them loose
from where they knot into the ground.
Only this brief twilight
lets me wrap you in the watery cotton
of my loosely woven love. For sunrise
drops me from this dream
and you lie still in his bed, blooming.