As a arching poet, I was a moth.
In good time loving, a captivating song.
As further as the skies into the light.
Surrounded by all a silver mistress.
Further than myself a vision in northwind breeze.
Calm as could be imagine a garden of fleshy mystery.
In clothes so wrapped around the flood of light.
Lively, no end.
I saw a light and became a saint.
copyrighted 2007
