MADRIGAL
with you
what I know of
the world
opens, has
that of
swelling, wave as
it tatters, a
ruled line, against
reefs, a
breadth that
still
spreading, breaks
in-
to dull tokens, spent
petals, what the
poem
would
close on, hold
in its
swift tissues, those
blown
ex-
panses,
shadows as
if
pouring, light
from your
fingers, your
blue, un-
loosened sash.